ri.irV HOUSE -II 
THE *VK\TER 









• 


L. --. 








F 



ACE to face With a tall bull moose " 

(See page 84) 




Xflbe Ibouse in tbe Mater 

a Booft of Bnimal Stortee 





XTbe llfllorfts of 
Cbarles <5. ©♦ IRoberte 



The Haunters of the Silences 

Red Fox 

The Watchers of the Trails . 
The Kindred of the Wild 
The House in the Water . 
Earth's Enigmas .... 
The Heart of the Ancient Wood 
The Heart That Knows . 
The Prisoner of Mademoiselle 
Barbara Ladd .... 
The Forge in the Forest . 
A Sister to Evangeline . 
By the Marshes of Minas . 
Cameron of Lochiel (translated) 
The Young Acadian . 
The Cruise of the Yacht "Dido' 
The Haunter of the Pine Gloom 
The Lord of the Air . ■ . 

The King of the Mamozekel . 
The Watchers of the Camp-fire 
The Return to the Trails 
The Little People of the Sycamore 



$2.00 

2.00 

2.00 

2.00 

I. 5 

I.50 

I.50 

I.50 

I.50 

I.50 

I.50 

I.50 

T.50 

I.50 

•50 

•50 

•50 

•50 

•50 

•50 

•50 

•5° 



%♦ <£♦ page & Company 

Iftew jBnalanfc JBuUDing, Boston, d&ass* 



ftbe IHouse in 
tbe Water 

A BOOK OF ANIMAL STORIES BY 

CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS 

Jluthor of 
"The Kindred of the Wild," "Red Fox," 
"The Heart of the Ancient Wood," "The Forge 
in the Forest," "The Heart That Knows," etc. 



Illustrated 
and 



CHARLES 

LIVINGSTON 

BULL 




and 



FRANK 

VINING 

SMITH 



L. C. PAGE & COMPANY 

MDCCCCVIII - - BOSTON 



2 

^ 'L. 




Copyright, 1907, by Curtis Publishing Company 

Copyright, 1908, by Funk & Wagnalls Company 

Copyright, 1908, by The Circle Publishing Company 

Copyright, 1908, by Associated Sunday Magazines, Incorporated 



Copyright, 1908, by L. C. Page & Company (Incorporated) 



A II rights reserved 
First impression, May, 1908 



(Enlonfal tytao 

Electrotyped and Printed by C H. Simoods fie Co. 

Boston, U. S. A. 



Contents of the Book 




XTbe Douse in tbe TKaater t 

Ube Ximbtte^slasbefc JBull ♦ ♦ ♦ ,124 

WLhcn tbe blueberries Bre IRtpe . ♦ 151 

Ube Glutton of tbe Great Snow ♦ ♦ 162 

Mben tbe Zxnce of tbe XRBUMs Bone ♦ 191 

Ube Minnow in tbe Sbacfe . . . 203 

XTbe IReturn ot tbe ZlDoose ♦ . . 224 

ffrom tbe Ueetb ot tbe ZTifce . . . 234 

XTbe ffigbt at tbe Mallow . . .251 

Sonnp an& tbe mfo . ♦ . . . . 270 




E %tet of tbe 3Full*page 
^Drawings in tbe Book 




PAGE 

" Face to face with a tall bull moose v (See 

page%\) Frontispiece 

" Began to climb out upon the crest of the dam " . 7 

"* a foraging fish - hawk winging above " . . 1 5 

" The otter moved with unusual caution " . . 19 
" Suddenly rearing his sleek, snaky body half 

out of the water " 23 

" Poked his head above water " 33 

" Sticky lumps, which they could hug under their 

CHINS " 41 

" Twisted it across his shoulders, and let it drag 

BEHIND HIM " 53 

vii 






:- ..--.: 


:- 


: 7*7:777 z::-Z77 :? a z z - z .■ : : :_:?• : ::•:"="* tttz 


-: 


/ 1 1 - 1 ■ : 1 1 ■ : 




. i _ i. . ' : ::. '.. .--.-_>. . i - — i - : . * 




- z : 7=3. : 7 7-e Tzz z 5 7_ z ?~ .or; jaTtt; a : .- : z : : j 




rz z z : z z f 7 


:: : 


i ; . " ; j 7 Z 7 - x i v ;!.; "="- ;:zzz-:T 


'--! 


: .-77 .- ..": ~~T7T£ a e::z z : ::•• z teat lo^zzz =zyc 




::- .- :z:. ;-. .-717. :y rzz -::tz?3z • zc : 




:. "- -. 7 T z 7 : . .... 




-: ;~ . "771 77£Z HZ'iy 7 7707 7 TEAT 




-zz zz:- 7: 7a17 


:_: 


. — .____-__ — _ _ _. _ i .____ I ._ . 





--" 



TE± 



: * " 



Ibouse in tbe Mater 




CHAPTER I 
Ubc 5ounfc in tbe Wabt 

PON the moonlit stillness came suddenly 
a far-off, muffled, crashing sound. Just 
once it came, then once again the stillness 
of the wilderness night, the stillness of vast, untrav- 
ersed solitude. The Boy lifted his eyes and glanced 
across the thin reek of the camp-fire at Jabe Smith, 
who sat smoking contemplatively. Answering the 
glance, the woodsman muttered " old tree fallm'," 
and resumed his passive contemplation of the sticks 
glowing keenly in the fire. The Boy, upon whom, 
as soon as he entered the wilderness, the taciturn- 
ity of the woods folk descended as a garment, said 
nothing, but scanned his companion's gaunt face 
with a gravely incredulous smile. 

So wide-spread and supreme was the silence that 
1 



2 xibe Ibouse in tbe Mater 

five seconds after that single strange sound had 
died out it seemed, somehow, impossible to believe 
it had ever been. The light gurgle of the shallow 
and shrunken brook which ran past the open front 
of the travellers' " lean-to " served only to meas- 
ure the stillness. Both Jabe and the Boy, since 
eating their dinner, had gradually forgotten to talk. 
As the moon rose over the low, fir-crested hills they 
had sunk into reverie, watching the camp-fire die 
down. 

At last, with a sort of crisp whisper a stick, burnt 
through the middle, fell apart, and a flicker of red 
flame leaped up. The woodsman knocked out his 
pipe, rose slowly to his feet, stretched his gaunt 
length, and murmured, " Reckon we might as well 
turn in." 

" That's all right for you, Jabe," answered the 
Boy, rising also, tightening his belt, and reaching 
for his rifle, " but I'm going off to see what I can 
see. Night's the time to see things in the woods." 

Jabe grunted non-committally, and began spread- 
ing his blanket in the lean-to. " Don't forgit to 
come back for breakfast, that's all," he muttered. 
He regarded the Boy as a phenomenally brilliant 
hunter and trapper spoiled by sentimental notions. 



Ubc Sounfc in tbe IMabt 3 

To the Boy, whose interest in all pertaining to 
woodcraft was much broader and more sympathetic 
than that of his companion, Jabe's interpretation of 
the sound of the falling tree had seemed hasty and 
shallow. He knew that there was no better all- 
round woodsman in these countries than Jabe 
Smith; but he knew also that Jabe's interest in the 
craft was limited pretty strictly to his activities as 
hunter, trapper and lumberman. Just now he was 
all lumberman. He was acting as what is called 
a " timber-cruiser/' roaming the remoter and less- 
known regions of the wilderness to locate the best 
growths of spruce and pine for the winter's lumber- 
ing operations, and for the present his keen facul- 
ties were set on the noting of tree growths, and 
water-courses, and the lay of the land for the get- 
ting out of a winter's cutting. On this particular 
cruise the Boy — who, for all the disparity in their 
years and the divergence in their views, was his 
most valued comrade — had accompanied him with 
a special object in view. The region they were 
cruising was one which had never been adequately 
explored, and it was said to be full of little un- 
named, unmapped lakes and streams, where, in 
former days, the Indians had had great beaver 
hunting. 



4 Ube Douse in tbe Mater 

When the sound of the falling tree came to his 
ears across the night-silence, the Boy at once said 
to himself, " Beavers, at work ! " He said it to 
himself, not aloud, because he knew that Jabe also, 
as a trapper, would be interested in beavers; and 
he had it in his mind to score a point on Jabe. 
Noiseless as a lynx in his soft-soled " larrigans," 
he ascended the half -empty channel of the brook, 
which here strained its shrunken current through 
rocks and slate-slabs, between steep banks. The 
channel curved steadily, rounding the shoulder of 
a low ridge. When he felt that he had travelled 
somewhat less than half a mile, he came out upon a 
bit of swampy marsh, beyond which, over the crest 
of a low dam, spread the waters of a tranquil pond 
shining like a mirror in the moonlight. 

The Boy stopped short, his heart thumping with 
excitement and anticipation. Here before him was 
what he had come so far to find. From his books 
and from his innumerable talks with hunter and 
trapper, he knew that the dam and the shining, 
lonely pond were the work of beavers. Presently 
he distinguished amid the sheen of the water a 
tiny, grassy islet, with a low, dome-shaped, stick- 
covered mound at one end of it. This, plainly, was 



Ube Sounfc in tbc IRigbt 5 

a beaver house, the first he had ever seen. His 
delighted eyes, observing it at this distance, at once 
pronounced it immeasurably superior to the finest 
and most pretentious muskrat-house he had ever 
seen — a very palace, indeed, by comparison. 
Then, a little further up the pond, and apparently 
adjoining the shore, he made out another dome- 
shaped structure, broader and less conspicuous than 
the first, and more like a mere pile of sticks. The 
pond, which was several acres in extent, seemed 
to him an extremely spacious domain for the dwell- 
ers in these two houses. 

Presently he marked a black trail, as it were, 
moving down in the middle of the radiance from 
the upper end of the pond. It was obviously the 
trail of some swimmer, but much too broad, it 
seemed, to be made by anything so small as a 
beaver. It puzzled him greatly. In his eagerness 
he pushed noiselessly forward, seeking a better 
view, till he was within some thirty feet of the dam. 
Then he made out a small dark spot in the front 
of the trail, — evidently a beaver's head ; and at 
last he detected that the little swimmer was carry- 
ing a bushy branch, one end held in his mouth while 
the rest was slung back diagonally across his shoul- 
ders. 



6 Zbc Douse In tbe Mater 

The Boy crept forward like a cat, his gray eyes 
shining with expectancy. His purpose was to gain 
a point where he could crouch in ambush behind 
the dam, and perhaps get a view of the lake-dwell- 
ers actually at work. He was within six or eight 
feet of the dam, crouching low (for the dam was 
not more than three feet in height), when his 
trained and cunning ear caught a soft swirling 
sound in the water on the other side of the barrier. 
Instantly he stiffened to a statue, just as he was, 
his mouth open so that not a pant of his quickened 
breath might be audible. The next moment the head 
of a beaver appeared over the edge of the dam, not 
ten feet away, and stared him straight in the face. 

The beaver had a stick of alder in its mouth, to 
be used, no doubt, in some repairing of the dam. 
The Boy, all in gray as he was, and absolutely 
motionless, trusted to be mistaken for one of the 
gnarled, gray stumps with which the open space 
below the dam was studded. He had read that the 
beaver was very near-sighted, and on that he based 
his hopes, though he was so near, and the moon- 
light so clear, that he could see the bright eyes of 
the newcomer staring straight into his with insist- 
ent question. Evidently, the story of that near- 




BEGAN TO CLIMB OUT UPON THE CREST OF THE DAM. 



ttbe Sounfc in tbe IFUgfot 9 

sightedness had not been exaggerated. He saw the 
doubt in the beaver's eye fade gradually into con- 
fidence, as the little animal became convinced that 
the strange gray figure was in reality just one of 
the stumps. Then, the industrious dam-builder 
began to climb out upon the crest of the dam, drag- 
ging his huge and hairless tail, and glancing along 
as if to determine where the stick which he carried 
would do most good. At this critical moment, 
when the eager watcher felt that he was just about 
to learn the exact methods of these wonderful archi- 
tects of the wild, a stick in the slowly settling mud 
beneath his feet broke with a soft, thick-muffled 
snap. 

So soft was the sound that it barely reached the 
Boy's ears. To the marvellously sensitive ears of 
the beaver, however, it was a warning more than 
sufficient. It was a noisy proclamation of peril. 
Swift as a wink of light, the beaver dropped his 
stick and dived head first into the pond. The Boy 
straightened up just in time to see him vanish. As 
he vanished, his broad, flat, naked tail hit the water 
with a cracking slap which resounded over the pond 
like a pistol-shot. It was reechoed by four or five 
more splashes from the upper portion of the pond. 



io XTbe Ifoouse in tfoe Water 

Then all was silence again, and the Boy realized that 
there would be no more chance that night for him 
to watch the little people of the House in the Water. 
Mounting the firm-woven face of the dam and 
casting his eyes all over the pond, he satisfied him- 
self that two houses which he had first seen were 
all that it contained. Then, resisting the impulse 
of his excitement, which was to explore all around 
the pond's borders at once, he resolutely turned his 
face back to camp, full of thrilling plans for the 
morrow. 




CHAPTER II 

Zbc battle in tfoe E>on& 

T breakfast, in the crisp of the morning, 
while yet the faint mists clung over the 
brook and the warmth of the camp-fire 
was attractive, the Boy proclaimed his find. Jabe 
had asked no questions, inquisitiveness being con- 
trary to the backwoodsman's code of etiquette; but 
his silence had been full of interrogation. With 
his mouth half-full of fried trout and cornbread, 
the Boy remarked: 

" That was no windfall, Jabe, that noise we 
heard last night ! " 

" So ? " muttered the woodsman, rather indiffer- 
ently. 

Without a greater show of interest than that the 
Boy would not divulge his secret. He helped him- 
self to another flaky pink section of trout, and be- 
came seemingly engrossed in it. Presently the 
woodsman spoke again. He had been thinking, and 

11 



12 xrbe fhouse in tbe Mater 

had realized that his prestige had suffered some 
kind of blow. 

"Of course," drawled the woodsman sarcastic- 
ally, " it wa'n't no windfall. I jest said that to git 
quit of bein' asked questions when I was sleepy. I 
knowed all the time it was beaver ! " 

" Yes, Jabe," admitted the Boy, " it was beavers. 
I've found a big beaver-pond just up the brook a 
ways — a pond with two big beaver-houses in it. 
I've found it — so I claim it as mine, and there 
ain't to be any trapping on that pond. Those are 
my beavers, Jabe, every one of them, and they 
sha'n't be shot or trapped ! " 

" I don't know how fur yer injunction'd hold in 
law," said Jabe dryly, as he speared a thick slab 
of bacon from the frying-pan to his tin plate. " But 
fur as I'm concerned, it'll .hold. An' I reckon the 
boys of the camp this winter '11 respect it, too, when 
I tell 'em as how it's your own partic'lar beaver 
pond." 

" Bless your old heart, Jabe ! " said the Boy. 
" That's just what I was hoping. And I imagine 
anyway there's lots more beaver round this region 
to be food for the jaws of your beastly old traps ! " 

" Yes," acknowledged Jabe, rising to clear up,- 



Ube Battle in tbe fl>onfc 13 

" I struck three likely ponds yesterday, as I was 
cruisin over to westward of the camp. I reckon 
we kin spare you the sixteen or twenty beaver in 
'Boy's Pond!"' 

The Boy grinned appreciation of the notable 
honour done him in the naming of the pond, and 
a little flush of pleasure deepened the red of his 
cheeks. He knew that the name would stick, and 
eventually go upon the maps, the lumbermen being 
a people tenacious of tradition and not to be 
swerved from their own way. 

" Thank you, Jabe ! " he said simply. " But how 
do you know there are sixteen or twenty beaver in 
my pond ? " 

" You said there was two houses," answered the 
woodsman. " Well, we reckon always from eight 
to ten beaver to each house, bein' the old couple, 
and then three or four yearlin's not yet kicked out 
to set up housekeeping fer themselves, and three 
or four youngsters of the spring's whelping. Bea- 
vers' good parents, an' the family holds together 
long's the youngsters needs it. Now I'm off. See 
you here at noon, fer grub ! " and picking up his 
axe he strode off to south west ward of the camp to 
investigate a valley which he had located the day 
before. 



14 Ube Ibouse in tbe TKHater 

Left alone, the Boy hurriedly set the camp in 
order, rolled up the blankets, washed the dishes, 
and put out the last of the fire. Then, picking up 
his little Winchester, which he always carried, — 
though he never used it on anything more sensi- 
tive than a bottle or a tin can, — he retraced his 
steps of the night before, up-stream to the beaver 
pond. 

Knowing that the beavers do most of their work, 
or, at least, most of their above- water work, at 
night, he had little hope of catching any of them 
abroad by daylight. He approached the dam, nev- 
ertheless, with that noiseless caution which had 
become a habit with him in the woods, a habit which 
rendered the woods populous for him and teeming 
with interest, while to more noisy travellers they 
seemed quite empty of life. One thing his study 
of the wilderness had well taught him, which was 
that the wild kindreds do not by any means always 
do just what is expected of them, but rather seem 
to delight in contradicting the naturalists. 

When he reached the edge of the open, however, 
and peered out across the dam, there was absolutely 
nothing to break the shining morning stillness. In 
the clear sunlight the dam, and the two beaver- 




A FORAGING FISH - HAWK WINGING ABOVE 



Ube battle in tbe potto 17 

houses beyond, looked larger and more impressive 
than they had looked the night before. There was 
no sign of life anywhere about the pond, except 
a foraging fish-hawk winging above it, with fierce 
head stretched low in the search for some basking 
trout or chub. 

Following the usual custom of the wild kindreds 
themselves, the Boy stood motionless for some min- 
utes behind his thin screen of bushes before reveal- 
ing himself frankly in the open. His patient watch 
being unrewarded, he was on the very verge of 
stepping forth, when from the tail of his eye he 
caught a motion in the shallow bed of the brook, 
and ducked himself. He was too wary to turn his 
head; but a moment later a little brown sinuous 
shape came into his field of view. It was an otter, 
making his way up-stream. 

The otter moved with unusual caution, glancing 
this way and that and seeming to take minute note 
of all he saw. At the foot of the dam he stopped, 
and investigated the structure with the air of one 
who had never seen it before. So marked was this 
air that the Boy concluded he was a stranger to 
that region, — perhaps a wanderer from the head 
of the Ottanoonsis, some fifteen miles southward, 



18 Ube Ifoouse In tbe XKHatet 

driven away by the operations of a crew of lum- 
bermen who were building a big lumber-camp there. 
However that might be, it was evident that the 
brown traveller was a newcomer, an outsider. He 
had none of the confident, businesslike manner 
which a wild animal wears in moving about his 
own range. 

When he had stolen softly along the whole base 
of the dam, and back again, nosing each little riv- 
ulet of overflow, the otter seemed satisfied that this 
was much like all other beaver dams. Then he 
mounted to the crest and took a prolonged survey 
of the stretch of water beyond. Nothing unusual 
appearing, he dived cleanly into the pond, about 
the point where, as the Boy guessed, there would 
be the greatest depth of water against the dam. 
He was apparently heading straight up for the 
inlet of the pond, on a path which would take him 
within about twenty-five or thirty yards of the main 
beaver-house on the island. As soon as he had 
vanished under the water the Boy ran forward, 
mounted the crest of the dam, and peered with 
shaded eyes to see if he could mark the swimmer's 
progress. 

For a couple of minutes, perhaps, the surface of 



XTfoe Battle in tbe fconb 21 

the pond gave no indication of the otter's where- 
abouts. Then, just opposite the main beaver-house, 
there was a commotion in the water, the surface 
curled and eddied, and the otter appeared in great 
excitement. He dived again immediately; and 
just as he did so the head of a huge beaver poked 
up and snatched a breath. Where the two had gone 
under, the surface of the pond now fairly boiled; 
and the Boy, in his excitement over this novel and 
mysterious contest, nearly lost his balance on the 
frail crest of the dam. A few moments more and 
both adversaries again came to the surface, now at 
close grips and fighting furiously. They were fol- 
lowed almost at once by a second beaver, smaller 
than the first, who fell upon the otter with insane 
fury. It was plain that the beavers were the aggres- 
sors. The Boy's sympathies were all with the otter, 
who from time to time tried vainly to escape from 
the battle ; and once he raised his rifle. But he be- 
thought him that the otter, after all, whatever his 
intentions, was a trespasser; and that the beavers 
had surely a right to police their own pond. He 
remembered an old Indian's having told him that 
there was always a blood feud between the beaver 
and the otter; and how was he to know how just 



22 Ube Douse in tbe WLatez 

the cause of offence, or the stake at issue? Lower- 
ing his gun he stared in breathless eagerness. 

The otter, however, as it proved, was well able 
to take care of himself. Suddenly rearing his sleek, 
snaky body half out of the water, he flashed down 
upon the smaller beaver and caught it firmly behind 
the ear with his long, deadly teeth — teeth designed 
to hold the convulsive and slippery writhings of the 
largest salmon. With mad contortions the beaver 
struggled to break that fatal grip. But the otter 
held inexorably, shaking its victim as a terrier does 
a rat, and paid no heed whatever to the slashing 
assaults of the other beaver. The water was lashed 
to such a turmoil that the waves spread all over 
the* pond, washing up to the Boy's feet on the crest 
of the dam, and swaying the bronze-green grasses 
about the house on the little island. Though, with- 
out a doubt, all the other citizens of the pond were 
watching the battle even more intently than him- 
self, the Boy could not catch sight of so much' as 
nose or ear. The rest of the spectators kept close 
to the covert of grass tuft and lily pad. 

All at once the small beaver stiffened itself out 
convulsively on top of the water, turned belly up, 
and began to sink. At the same time the otter let 




SUDDENLY REARING HIS SLEEK, SNAKY BODY HALF OUT OF THE 

WATER." 



TTbe battle in tbe I>on& 25 

go, tore free of his second and more dangerous 
adversary, and swam desperately for the nearest 
point of shore. The surviving beaver, evidently 
hurt, made no effort to follow up his victory, but 
paddled slowly to the house on the island, where 
he disappeared. Presently the otter gained the 
shore and dragged himself up. His glossy brown 
skin was gashed and streaming with blood, but the 
Boy gathered that his wounds were not mortal. 
He turned, stared fixedly at the beaver-house for 
several seconds as if unwilling to give in, then 
stole off through the trees to seek some more hos- 
pitable water. As he vanished, repulsed and mal- 
treated, the Boy realized for the first time how 
hostile even the unsophisticated wilderness is to a 
stranger. Among the wild kindreds, even as 
among men, most things worth having are pre- 
empted. 

When the Boy's excitement over this strange 
fight had calmed down, he set himself with keen 
interest to examining the dam. He knew that by 
this time every beaver in the pond was aware of 
his presence, and would take good care to keep out 
of sight; so there was no longer anything to be 
gained by concealment. Pacing the crest, he made 



26 ftfoe Douse in tbe Mater 

it to be about one hundred feet in length. At the 
centre, and through a great part of its length, it 
was a little over three feet high, its ends diminish- 
ing gradually into the natural rise of the shores. 
The base of the dam, as far as he could judge, 
seemed to be about twelve feet in thickness, its 
upper face constructed with a much more gradual 
slope than the lower. The whole structure, which 
was built of poles, brush, stones, and earth, ap- 
peared to be very substantial, a most sound and 
enduring piece of workmanship. But along the 
crest, which was not more than a foot and a half 
in width, it was built with a certain looseness and 
elasticity for which he was at a loss to account. 
Presently he observed, however, that this dam had 
no place of overflow for letting off the water. The 
water stood in the pond at a height that brought 
it within three or four inches of the crest. At this 
level he saw that it was escaping, without violence, 
by percolating through the toughly but loosely 
woven tissue of sticks and twigs. The force of the 
overflow was thus spread out so thin that its de- 
structive effect on the dam was almost nothing. It 
went filtering, with' little trickling noises, down 
over and through the whole lower face of the 



Uhc battle in tbe ff>onfc 27 

structure, there to gather again into a brook and 
resume its sparkling journey toward the sea. 

The long upper slope of the dam was smoothly 
and thoroughly faced with clay, so that none of its 
framework showed through, save here and there 
the butt of a sapling perhaps three or four inches 
in diameter, which proclaimed the solidity of the 
foundations. The lower face, on the other hand, 
was all an inexplicable interlacing of sticks and 
poles which seemed at first glance heaped together 
at haphazard. On examination, however, the Boy 
found that every piece was woven in so firmly 
among its fellows that it took some effort to remove 
it. The more he studied the structure, the more his 
admiration grew, and his appreciation of the rea- 
soning intelligence of its builders; and he smiled 
to himself a little controversial smile, as he thought 
how inadequate what men call instinct would be to 
such a piece of work as this. 

But what impressed him most, as a mark of engi- 
neering skill and sound calculation on the part of 
the pond-people, was the direction in which the dam 
was laid. At either end, where the water was shoal, 
and comparatively dead even in time of freshet, the 
dam ran straight, taking the shortest way. But 



28 Ube Ibouse in tbe Mater 

where it crossed the main channel of the brook, and 
required the greatest strength, it had a pronounced 
upward curve to .help it resist the thrust of the cur- 
rent. He contemplated this strong curve for some 
time; then, a glance at the sun reminding him that 
it was near noon, he took off his cap to the low- 
domed house in the water and made haste back to 
camp for dinner. 




CHAPTER III 
Un tbe Wnfcer* water MorlO 

|EAN WHILE, in the dark chamber and 
the long, dim corridors of the House in 
the Water there was great perturbation. 
The battle with the otter had been a tremendous 
episode in their industrious, well-ordered lives, and 
they were wildly excited over it. But much more 
important to them — to all but the big beaver who 
was now nursing his triumphant wounds — was the 
presence of Man in their solitude. Man had 
hitherto been but a tradition among them, a vague 
but alarming tradition. And now his appearance, 
yesterday and to-day, filled them with terror. That 
vision of the Boy, standing tall and ominous on the 
dam, and afterwards going forward and backward 
over it, pulling at it, apparently seeking to destroy 
it, seemed to portend mysterious disasters. After 
he was gone, and well gone, almost every beaver 
in the pond, not only from the main house but also 



30 Ube Ibouse in tbe Mater 

from the lodge over on the bank, swam down and 
made a flurried inspection of the dam, without 
showing his head above water, to see if the struc- 
ture on which they all depended had been tampered 
with. One by one, each on his own responsibility, 
they swam down and inspected the water- face; and 
one by one they swam back, more or less relieved 
in their minds. 

All, of course, except the big beaver who had 
been in the fight. If it had not been for that vision 
of the Boy, he would have crept out upon the dry 
grass of the little island and there licked and com- 
forted his wounds in the comforting sunlight. 
Now, however, he dared not allow himself that 
luxury. His strong love of cleanliness made him 
reluctant to take his bleeding gashes into the house ; 
but there was nothing else to be done. He was 
the head of the household, however, so there was 
none to gainsay him. He dived into the mouth of 
the shorter of the two entrances, mounted the 
crooked and somewhat steep passage, and curled 
himself upon the dry grass in one corner of the 
dark, secluded chamber. His hurts were painful, 
and ugly, but none of them deadly, and he knew 
he would soon be all right again. There was none 



Hn tbe TUn&etvwater Worto 31 

of that foreknowledge of death upon him which 
sometimes drives a sick animal to abdicate his rights 
and crawl away by himself for the last great con- 
test. 

The room wherein the big beaver lay down to 
recover himself was not spacious nor particularly 
well ventilated, but in every other respect it was 
very admirably adapted to the needs of its occu- 
pants. Through the somewhat porous ceiling, a 
three-foot thickness of turf and sticks, came a little 
air, but no light. This, however, did not matter 
to the beavers, whose ears and noses were of more 
significance to them than their eyes. In floor area 
the chamber was something like five feet by six and 
a half, but in height not much more than eighteen 
inches. The floor of this snug retreat was not five 
inches above the level of the water in the passages 
leading in to it ; but so excellently was it constructed 
as to be altogether free from damp. It was daintily 
clean, moreover; and the beds of dry grass around 
the edges of the chamber were clean and fresh. 

From this room the living, sleeping, and dining 
room of the beaver family, ran two passageways 
communicating with the outside world. Both of 
these were roofed over to a point well outside the 



32 XTbe Ibouse in the Mater 

walls of the house, and had their opening in the 
bottom of the pond, where the water was consider- 
ably more than three feet in depth. One of these 
passages was perfectly straight, about two feet in 
width, and built on a long, gradual slope. It was 
by this entrance that the house-dwellers were wont 
to bring in their food supplies, in the shape of 
sticks of green willow, birch and poplar. When 
these sticks were stripped clean of their bark, which 
was the beavers' chief nourishment, they were then 
dragged out again, and floated down to be used in 
the repair of the dam. The other passage, espe- 
cially adapted to quick exit in case of danger from 
the way of the roof, was about as spacious as the 
first, but much shorter and steeper. It was crooked, 
moreover, — for a reason doubtless adequate to the 
architects, but obscure to mere human observers. 
The exits of both passages were always in open 
water, no matter how fierce the frosts of the winter, 
how thick the armour of ice over the surface of 
the pond. In the neighbourhood of the house were 
springs bubbling up through the bottom, and keep- 
ing the temperature of the pond fairly uniform 
throughout the coldest weather, so that the ice, at 
worst, never attained a thickness of more than a 




POKED HIS HEAD ABOVE WATER. 



Un tbe xanDer^water TKHoriD 35 

foot and a half, even though in the bigger lakes 
of that region it might make to a depth of three 
feet and over. 

While the wounded beaver lay in the chamber 
licking his honourable gashes, two other members 
of the family entered and approached him: In 
some simple but adequate speech it was conveyed 
to them that their presence was not required, and 
they retreated precipitately, taking different exits. 
One swam to the grassy edge of the islet, poked 
his head above water under the covert of some 
drooping weeds, listened motionless for some min- 
utes, then wormed himself out among the long 
grasses and lay basking, hidden from all the world 
but the whirling hawk overhead. The other, of a 
more industrious mould, swam off toward the upper 
end of the pond where, as he knew, there was work 
to be done. 

Still as was the surface of the pond, below the 
surface there was life and movement. Every little 
while the surface would be softly broken, and a 
tiny ripple would set out in widening circles toward 
the shore, starting from a small dark nose thrust 
up for a second. The casual observer would have 
said that these were fish rising for flies; but in 



36 Ube Ifcottse in tbe TKHater 

fact it was the apprehensive beavers coming up to 
breathe, afraid to show themselves on account of 
the Boy. They were all sure that he had not really 
gone, but was in hiding somewhere, waiting to 
pounce upon them. 

It was the inhabitants of the House in the Water 
who were moving about the pond, this retreat being 
occupied by their wounded and ill-humoured cham- 
pion. The inhabitants of the other house, over on 
the shore, who had been interested but remote spec- 
tators through all the strange events of the morn- 
ing, were now in comfortable seclusion, resting till 
it should be counted a safe time to go about their 
affairs. Some were sleeping, or gnawing on sappy 
willow sticks, in the spacious chamber of their 
house, while others were in the deeper and more 
secret retreats of their two burrows high up in the 
bank, connecting with the main house by roomy 
tunnels partly filled with water. The two families 
were quite independent of each other, except for 
their common interest in keeping the great dam in 
repair. In work upon the dam they acted not ex- 
actly in harmony but in amicable rivalry, all being 
watchful and all industrious. 

In the under- water world of the beaver pond the 



Hn the 1Hn&er*water Timorifc 37 

light from the cloudless autumn sun was tawny- 
gold, now still as crystal, now quivering over the 
bottom in sudden dancing meshes of fine shadow 
as some faint puff of air wrinkled the surface. 
When the dam was first built the pond had been of 
proper depth — from three to four feet — only in 
the channel of the stream; while all the rest was 
shallow, the old, marshy levels of the shore sub- 
merged to a depth of perhaps not more than twelve 
or fifteen inches. Gradually, however, the indus- 
trious dam-builders had dug away these shallows, 
using the material — grass, roots, clay, and stones 
— for the broadening and solidifying of the dam. 
The tough fibred masses of grass-roots, full of clay 
and almost indestructible, were just such material 
as they loved to work with, the ancient difficulty of 
making bricks without straw being well known to 
them. Over a large portion of the pond the bottom 
was now clean sand and mud, offering no obstacle 
to the transportation of cuttings to the houses or 
the dam. 

The beavers, moving hither and thither through 
this glimmering golden underworld, swam with 
their powerful hind feet only, which drove them 
through the water like wedges. Their little fore- 



38 Ubc Ibouse in tbe Mater 

feet, with flexible, almost handlike paws, were car- 
ried tucked up snugly under their chins, while their 
huge, broad, flat, hairless tails stuck straight out 
behind, ready to be used as a powerful screw in 
case of any sudden need. Presently two of the 
swimmers, apparently by chance, came upon the 
body of the beaver which the journeying otter had 
slain. They knew that it was contrary to the laws 
of the clan that any dead thing should be left in 
the pond to poison the waters in its decay. With- 
out ceremony or sentiment they proceeded to drag 
their late comrade toward shore, — or rather to 
shove it ahead of them, only dragging when it got 
stuck against some stone or root. At the very edge 
of the pond, where the water was not more than 
eight or ten inches deep, they left it, to be thrust 
out and far up the bank after nightfall. They knew 
that some hungry night prowler would then take 
care of it for them. 

Meanwhile an industriously inclined beaver had 
made his way to the very head of the pond. Here 
he entered a little ditch or canal which led off 
through a wild meadow in a perfectly straight line, 
toward a wooded slope some fifty yards or so from 
the pond. This ditch, which was perhaps two feet 



Un tbe illnfcet^water XKHorR> 39 

and a half deep and about the same in width, looked 
as if it had been dug by the hand of man. The 
materials taken from it had been thrown up along 
the brink, but not on one side only, as the human 
ditch-digger does it. The beavers had thrown it 
out on both sides. The ditch was of some age, how- 
ever, so the wild grasses and weeds had completely 
covered the two parallel ridges and now leaned low 
over the water, partly hiding it. Under this screen 
the beaver came to the surface, and swam noise- 
lessly with his head well up. 

At the edge of the slope the canal turned sharply 
to the left, and ran in a gradual curve, skirting the 
upland. Here it was a piece of new work, raw and 
muddy, and the little ridges of fresh earth and 
roots along its brink were conspicuous. The beaver 
now went very cautiously, sniffing the air for any 
hint of peril. After winding along for some twenty 
or thirty yards, the new canal shoaled out to noth- 
ingness behind a screen of alder; and here, in a 
mess of mud and water, the beaver found one of 
his comrades hard at work. There was much of 
the new canal yet to do, and winter coming on. 

The object of this new ditch was to tap a new 
food supply. The food trees near enough to the 



40 Ube t>ouse in tbe TKHater 

pond to be felled into it or rolled down to it had 
long- ago been used. Then the straight canal across 
the meadow to the foot of the upland had opened up 
a new area, an area rich in birch and poplar. But 
trees can be rolled easily down-hill that cannot be 
dragged along an uneven side-hill; so, at last, it 
had become necessary to extend the canal parallel 
with the bottom of the slope. Working in this di- 
rection, every foot of new ditch brought a lot of 
new supplies within reach. 

The extremity of the canal was dug on a slant, 
for greater ease in removing the material. Here 
the two beavers toiled side by side, working inde- 
pendently. With their teeth they cut the tough sod 
as cleanly as a digger's spade could do it. With 
their fore paws they scraped up the soil — which 
was soft and easily worked — into sticky lumps, 
which they could hug under their chins and carry 
up the slope to be dumped upon the grass at the 
side. Every minute one or the other would stop, 
lift his brown head over the edge, peer about, and 
sniff, and listen, then fall to work again furiously, 
as if the whole future and fortune of the pond were 
hanging upon his toil. After a half -hour's labour 
the canal was lengthened very perceptibly — fully 



Hn tbe mnfcer^water Timor Ifc 43 

six or eight inches — and as if by common consent 
the two brown excavators stopped to refresh them- 
selves by nibbling at some succulent roots. While 
they were thus occupied, and apparently absorbed, 
from somewhere up the slope among the birch-trees 
came the faint sound of a snapping twig. In half 
a second the beavers had vanished noiselessly under 
water, down the canal, leaving but a swirl of muddy 
foam to mark their going. 




CHAPTER IV 
IWabt Matcbers 

HEN the Boy came creeping- down the 
hillside, and found the water in the canal 
still muddy and foaming, he realized that 
he had just missed a chance to see the beavers ac- 
tually at work on their ditch-digging. He was 
disappointed. But he found ample compensation 
in the fact that here was one of the much-discussed 
and sometimes doubted canals, actually in process 
of construction. He knew he could outdo the bea- 
vers in their own game of wariness and watchful- 
ness. He made up his mind he would lie out that 
very night, on the hillside close by — and so pa- 
tiently, so unstirringly, that the beavers would 
never suspect the eager eyes that were upon them. 

All around him, on the nearer slopes, were evi- 
dences of the purpose for which the canal was de- 
signed, as well as of the diligence with which the 
little people of the pond were labouring to get in 
their winter stores. From this diligence, so early 

44 



IFiigbt TKHatcbers 45 

in the season, the Boy argued an early and severe 
winter. He found trees of every size up to two 
feet in diameter cleanly felled, and stripped of their 
branches. With two or three exceptions — proba- 
bly the work of young beavers unskilled in their 
art — the trees were felled unerringly in the direc- 
tion of the water, so as to minimize the labour of 
dragging down the cuttings. Close to the new part 
of the canal, he found the tree whose falling he and 
Jabe had heard the night before. It was a tall yel- 
low birch, fully twenty inches through at the place 
where it was cut, some fifteen inches from the 
ground. The cutting was still fresh and sappy. 
About half the branches had been gnawed off and 
trimmed, showing that the beavers, after being dis- 
turbed by the Boy's visit to the dam, had returned 
to work later in the night. Much of the smaller 
brush, from the top, had been cleared away and 
dragged down to the edge of the canal. As the Boy 
knew, from what trappers and woodsmen had told 
him, this brush, and a lot more like it, would all 
be anchored in a huge pile in mid-channel, a little 
above the dam, where it would serve the double 
purpose of breaking the force of the floods and of 
supplying food through the winter. 



46 Ube tbouse in tbe TKHater 

Very near the newly felled birch the Boy found 
another large tree about half cut through; and he 
vowed to himself that he would see the finish of 
that job that very night. He found the cutting 
done pretty evenly all around the tree, but some- 
what lower and deeper on the side next to the water. 
In width the cut was less than that which a good 
axeman would make — because the teeth of a 
beaver are a more frugal cutting instrument than 
the woodsman's axe, making possible a straighter 
and less wasteful cut. At the foot of this tree he 
picked up chips fully eight inches in length, and 
was puzzled to imagine how the beavers imitated 
the effect of the axe in making the chips fly off. 

For a couple of hours the Boy busied himself 
joyously, observing the work of these cunning 
woodsmen's teeth, noting the trails by which' the 
remoter cuttings had been dragged down to the 
water, and studying the excavations on the canal. 
Then, fearing to make the little citizens of the pond 
so nervous that they might not come out to business 
that night, he withdrew over the slope and made his 
way back to camp. He would sleep out the rest 
of the afternoon to be fresh and keen for the night's 
watching. 



ntQbt Matcbers 47 

At supper that evening, beside the camp-fire, 
when the woods looked magical under the still, 
white moon, Jabe Smith gradually got fired with 
the Boy's enthusiasm. The Boy's descriptions of 
the canal digging, of the structure of the dam, and, 
above all, of the battle between the otter and the 
beavers, filled him with a new eagerness to observe 
these wonderful little engineers with other eyes 
than those of the mere hunter and trapper. In the 
face of all the Boy's exact details he grew almost 
deferential, quite laying aside his usual backwoods 
pose of indifference and half derision. He made 
no move to go to bed, but refilled his pipe and 
watched his young comrade's face with shrewd, 
bright eyes grown suddenly boyish. 

At last the Boy rose and picked up his rifle. 

" I must hurry up and get myself hidden," said 
he, " or I'll see nothing to-night. Good night, Jabe. 
I'll not be back, likely, till along toward morning." 

The backwoodsman's usual response was not 
forthcoming. For some seconds he fingered his 
rugged chin in silence. Then, straightening himself 
up, he spoke with an air of mingled embarrassment 
and carelessness. 

" Them beaver of yourn's certainly an interestin' 



48 XTfoe Ibouse in tbe TKHater 

kind of varmint. D'ye know, blam'd if I ain't got 
a notion to go along with you to-night, an' watch 
'em myself ! " 

The Boy, though secretly delighted at this evi- 
dence of something like conversion, eyed Jabe 
doubtfully. He was not sure of the latter's ca- 
pacity for the tireless patience and long self-efface- 
ment necessary for such an adventure as this. 

" Well, Jabe," he answered hesitatingly, " you 
know well how more than glad I'd be of your com- 
pany. It would just about double my fun, having 
you along, if you were really interested, as I am, 
you know. And are you sure you could keep still 
long enough to see anything ? " 

Jabe would have resented this halting acceptance 
of his companionship had he not known in his heart 
that it was nothing more than he well deserved. 
But the doubt cast upon his woodcraft piqued him. 

" Hain't I never set for hours in the wet ma'sh, 
never movin' a finger, waitin' for the geese? " he 
asked with injury in his voice. " Hain't I never 
sneaked up on a watchin' buck, or laid so still I've 
fooled a bear? " 

The Boy chuckled softly at this outbreak, so 
unexpected in the taciturn and altogether superior 
Jabe. 



mm Matcbers 49 

" You're all right, Jabe ! " said he. " I reckon 
you can keep still. But you must let me be captain, 
for to-night! This is my trick." 

" Sartain," responded the woodsman with alac- 
rity. "I'll eat mud if you say so! But I'll take 
along a hunk of cold bacon if you hain't got no 
objection." 

On the trail through the ghostly, moonlit woods, 
Jabe followed obediently at the Boy's heels. Si- 
lently as shadows they moved, silently as the lynx 
or the moose or the weasel goes through the softly 
parting under-growth. The Boy led far away from 
the brook, and over the crest of the ridge, to avoid 
alarming the vigilant sentries. As they approached 
the head of the canal, their caution redoubled, and 
they went very slowly, bending low and avoiding 
every patch of moonlight. The light breeze, so 
light as to be almost imperceptible, drew upward 
toward them from the meadow, bringing now and 
then a scent of the fresh-dug soil. At last the Boy 
lay down on his belly ; and Jabe religiously imitated 
him. For perhaps fifty yards they crept forward 
inch by inch, till at length' they found themselves 
in the heart of a young fir thicket, through whose 
branches they could look out upon the head of the 



50 Ube Ibouse in tbe Water 

canal and the trees where the beavers had most 
recently been cutting. 

Among the trees and in the water, all was still, 
with the mystic, crystalline stillness of the autumn 
moonlight. In that light everything seemed fragile 
and unreal, as if a movement or a breath might 
dissolve it. After a waiting of some ten minutes 
Jabe had it on the tip of his tongue to whisper, de- 
risively, " Nothin' doin' ! " But he remembered the 
Boy's injunction, as well as his doubts, and checked 
himself. A moment later a faint, swirling gurgle 
of water caught his ear, and he was glad he had 
kept silence. An instant more, and the form of a 
beaver, spectral-gray in the moonlight, took shape 
all at once on the brink of the canal. For several 
minutes it stood there motionless, erect upon its 
hind quarters, questioning the stillness with eyes 
and ear and nose. Then, satisfied that there was 
no danger near, it dropped on all fours and crept 
up toward the tree that was partly cut through. 

This pioneer of the woodcutters was followed 
immediately by three others, who lost no time in 
getting down to work. One of them went to help 
the leader, while the other two devoted themselves 
to trimming and cutting up the branches of the big 



Wfabt TKdatcbers 51 

birch which they had felled the night before. The 
Boy wondered where the rest of the pond-people 
were, and would have liked to consult Jabe about 
it ; but he remembered the keenness of the beaver's 
ears, and held his tongue securely. It seemed to 
him probably that they were still down in the pond, 
working on the houses, the brush pile, or the dam. 
Presently one more was accounted for. A renewed 
splashing in the canal turned the attention of the 
watchers from the tree-cutting, and they saw that 
a single wise excavator was at work, carrying for- 
ward the head of the ditch. 

There was no impatience or desire to fidget left 
in Jabe Smith now. As he watched the beavers at 
work in the moonlight, looking very mysterious in 
their stealthy, busy, tireless diligence, and conduct- 
ing their toil with an ordered intelligence which 
seemed to him almost human, he understood for the 
first time the Boy's enthusiasm for this kind of 
bloodless hunting. He had always known how 
clever the beavers were, and allowed them full 
credit; but till now he had never actually realized 
it. The two beavers engaged in cutting down the 
tree sat erect upon their haunches, supported by 
their huge tails, chiseling indefatigably. Cutting 



52 Ube Ibouse in tbe Mater 

two deep grooves, one about six or eight inches, 
perhaps, above the other, they would then wrench 
off the chips by main force with their teeth and 
forepaws, jerking their powerful necks with a 
kind of furious impatience. As he noted how 
they made the cut deeper and lower on one side 
than the other, that the tree might fall as they 
wished, he was so delighted that he came danger- 
ously near vowing he would never trap a beaver 
again. He felt that it was almost like ensnaring 
a brother woodsman. 

Equally exciting was the work on the other tree, 
which was being trimmed. The branches, accord- 
ing to their size, were cut into neat, manageable 
lengths, of from three to six or seven feet — the 
less the diameter the greater the length, each piece 
being calculated to be handled in the water by one 
beaver. These pieces were then rolled, shoved or 
dragged, as the case might require, down the 
smooth trails already made in hauling the brush, 
and dumped into the canal. Other beavers pres- 
ently appeared, and began towing the sticks and 
brush down the canal to< the pond. This part of 
the process was hidden from the eager watchers in 
the thicket; but the Boy guessed, from his own 




TWISTED IT ACROSS HIS SHOULDERS, AND LET IT DRAG BEHIND HIM. 



IRiabt TKHatcbers 55 

experience in pushing a log endwise before him 
while in swimming, that the beavers would handle 
the sticks in the same way. With the brush, how- 
ever, it was different. In hauling it down the trail 
each beaver took a branch in his teeth, by the butt, 
twisted it across his shoulders, and let it drag be- 
hind him. It was obvious that in the water, too, this 
would be the most convenient way to handle such 
material. The beavers were not the kind of people 
to waste their strength in misdirected effort. 

While all this cutting and hauling was going on, 
the big beaver down at the head of the canal was at- 
tending strictly to his task, running his lines 
straight, digging the turf and clay, shoving his 
loads up the slope and out upon the edge of the 
ditch. The process was all in clear, easy view of 
the watchers, their place of hiding being not more 
than eight or ten paces distant. 

They had grown altogether absorbed in watching 
the little canal-builder, when a cracking sound made 
them turn their eyes. The tree was toppling slowly. 
Every beaver now made a mad rush for the canal, 
not caring how much noise he made — and plunged 
into the water. Slowly, reluctantly, majestically, 
the tall birch swung forward straight down the 



56 XTbe Ibouse in tbe Mater 

slope, its top describing a great arc against the sky 
and gathering the air in its branches with a low- 
but terrifying roar. The final crash was unexpect- 
edly gentle, — or rather, would have seemed so to 
one unfamiliar with tree-felling. Some branches 
snapped, some sticks flew up and dropped, there 
was a shuddering confusion in the crystal air for a 
few seconds, then, the stillness fell once more. 

But now there was not a beaver to be seen. Jabe 
wondered if they had been scared by the results of 
their own work; or if one of their sentinels had 
come and peered into the thicket from the rear. As 
minute after minute dragged by, and nothing hap- 
pened, he began to realize that his muscles were 
aching savagely from their long restraint. He was 
on the point of moving, of whispering to ask the 
Boy what it meant, when the latter, divining his 
unrest, stealthily laid a restraining hand upon his 
arm. He guessed that the beavers were on the alert, 
hiding, and watching to see if any of their enemies 
should be attracted by the noise. 

Not five seconds later, however, he forgot his 
aches. Appearing with uncanny and inexplicable 
suddenness, there was the big pioneer again, sitting 
up by the tdgt of the canal. As before, he sat ab- 






< 




Z 




< 




U 




w 




K 




h 




rt 




o 




[3H 


.';■- 


8 




CO 




D 




OJ 




Q 




< 


- ; 


§ 








.< 




w 




Q 




< 




S 




£ 




O 




fc 



WiObt *Cdatcbers 59 

solutely motionless for a minute or two, sniffing 
and listening. Then, satisfied once more that all 
was well, he moved lazily up the slope to examine 
the tree; and in half a minute all were at work 
again, except that there was no more tree- felling. 
The great business of the hour was cutting brush. 
For some time longer the watchers lay motion- 
less, noting every detail of the work, till at last the 
Boy began to think it was time to release Jabe from 
his long and severe restraint and break up the 
beaver " chopping-bee." Before he had quite made 
up his mind, however, his eyes chanced to wander 
a little way up the slope, and to rest, without any 
conscious purpose, on a short gray bit of log. 
Presently he began to> wonder what a piece of log 
so short and thick — not much more than three 
feet long — would be doing there. No beavers 
would waste time cutting up a twelve-inch log into 
lengths like that. And there had been no lumber- 
man in the neighbourhood. Then, in a flash, his 
eyes cleared themselves of their illusion. The log 
had moved, ever so slightly. It was no longer a 
log, but a big gray lynx, creeping slowly, inexo- 
rably, down upon the unsuspecting people of the 
pond. 



60 Ube Ibouse in tbe Mater 

For perhaps ten seconds the Boy stared in uncer- 
tainty. Then he saw the lynx gather his muscles 
for the final, fatal rush. Without a whisper or a 
warning to the astonished Jabe, he whipped up his 
rifle, and fired. 

The sharp report seemed to shatter the whole 
scene. Its echoes were mixed with the scattering 
of the horrified beavers as they rushed for the 
water — with the short screech of the lynx, as it 
bounced into the air and fell back on its side, dead 

— with an exclamation of astonishment from Jabe 

— and with a crashing of branches just behind the 
thicket. The Boy looked around, triumphant — to 
see that Jabe's exclamation was not at all the result 
of his clever shot. The woodsman was on his 
hands and knees, his back turned, and staring at the 
form of a big black bear as it lumbered off in a 
panic through the bushes. Like the unfortunate 
lynx, the bear had been stalking the beavers on his 
own account, and had almost stepped upon the 
silent watchers in the thicket. 




IT WAS NO LONGER A LOG, BUT A BIG GRAY LYNX." 




CHAPTER V 
Dam IRepairing ant) Dam 3BuilMng 

'S the Boy trudged triumphantly back 
toward camp, over the crest of the moon- 
bright ridge, he carried the limp, furry 
body of the lynx slung by its hind legs over his 
shoulder. He felt that his prestige had gone up 
incalculably in the woodsman's eyes. The woods- 
man was silent, however, as silent as the wilder- 
ness, till they descended the other slope and came 
in sight of the little solitary camp. Then he said: 
" That was a mighty slick shot of yourn, d'ye know 
it ? Ye're quicker'n chain lightnin', an' dead on ! " 
" Just luck, Jabe ! " replied the Boy carelessly, 
trying to seem properly modest. 

This different suggestion Jabe did not take the 
trouble to controvert. He knew the Boy did not 
mean it. 

" But I thought as how ye wouldn't kill any- 
thing?" he went on, teasingly. 

63 



64 XTbe Ibouse in tbe Water 

" Had to! " retorted the Boy. " That was self- 
defence ! Those beavers are my beavers. An' I've 
always wanted a real good excuse for getting a 
good lynx skin, anyway ! " 

" I don't blame ye a mite fer standin' by them 
beaver ! " continued Jabe. " They're jest all right ! 
It was better'n any circus ; an' I don't know when 
I've enjoyed myself more." 

" Then the least you can do, Jabe, is promise not 
to trap any more beavers ! " said the Boy quickly. 

" Wa'al," answered Jabe, as they entered camp 
and began spreading their blankets, " leastwise I'll 
do my best to see that no harm comes to them 
beaver, nor to the pond." 

Next morning, as the woodsman was starting 
out for the day's cruise, the Boy said to him : 

"If you're game for another night's watching, 
Jabe, I'll show you something altogether different 
up at the pond to-night." 

" Try me! " responded the woodsman. 

" You'll have to be back earlier than usual, then," 
said the Boy. " We'll have to get hidden earlier, 
and in a new place." 

" I'll come back along a couple of hours afore 
sundown, then," answered Jabe, swinging off on 



Dam IRepairtng anfc E>am SntlMng 65 

his long, mooselike stride. It was contrary to his 
backwoods etiquette to ask what was in store for 
him; but his curiosity was excited, and kept him 
company through the solitude all day. 

When Jabe was gone, the Boy went straight up- 
stream to the dam, taking no special care to hide 
his coming. His plan was one in regard to which 
he felt some guilty qualms. But he consoled himself 
with the thought that whatever harm he might be 
doing to the little citizens of the pond would be 
more than compensated by the protection he was 
giving them. He was going to make a break in the 
dam, for the sake of seeing just how the beavers 
would mend it. 

On reaching the dam, however, it occurred to 
him that if he made the break now the beavers 
might regard the matter as too urgent to be left 
till nightfall. They might steal a march on him 
by mending the damage little by little, surrepti- 
tiously, through the day. He had no way of know- 
ing just how they would take so serious a danger 
as a break in their dam. He decided, therefore, to 
postpone his purpose till the afternoon, so that the 
beavers would not come to the rescue too early. 
In the meantime, he would explore the stream 



66 Ube Ifoouse in tbe Timater 

above the pond, and see if there were other com- 
munities to study. 

Skirting the hither side of the pond to near its 
head, he crossed the little meadow and the canal, 
and reached the brook again about fifty yards be- 
yond. Here he found it flowing swift and narrow, 
over a rocky bottom, between high banks ; and this 
was its character for nearly half a mile, as he 
judged. Then, emerging once more upon lower 
ground, he came upon a small dam. This structure 
was not much over eighteen inches in height, and 
the pond above it, small and shallow, showed no 
signs of being occupied. There was no beaver 
house to be seen, either in the water or on shore; 
and the water did not seem to be anywhere more 
than a foot and a half in depth. As he puzzled 
over this — for he did not think the beavers were 
likely to build a dam for nothing — he observed 
a second and much larger dam far away across the 
head of the pond. 

Hastening to investigate this upper dam, he 
found it fully three feet high, and very massive. 
Above it was a narrow but deep pond, between com- 
paratively steep shores; and along these shores he 
counted three low-roofed houses. Out in the mid- 



Dam IRepairtng an£> Dam Builfcina 67 

die of the pond there was not one dwelling; and he 
came presently to the conclusion that here, between 
the narrow banks, the current would be heavy in 
time of freshet. The lower dam, pretty obviously, 
was intended to reinforce the upper, by backing a 
foot and a half of water against it and taking of! 
just that much of the pressure. He decided that 
the reason for locating the three houses along the 
shore was that the steep bank afforded special facil- 
ities for shore burrows. 

The explorer's fever being now hot upon him, 
the Boy could not stay to examine this pond mi- 
nutely. He pressed on up-stream with breathless 
eagerness, thrilling with expectation of what the 
next turn might reveal. As a matter of fact, the 
next turn revealed nothing — nor the next, nor yet 
the next. But as the stream was full of turns in 
this portion of its course, that was not greatly dis- 
couraging. 

About a quarter of a mile, however, above the 
head of the narrow pond, the ardent explorer came 
upon a level of sparse alder swamp. Here he found 
the stream just beginning to spread over its low 
banks. The cause of this spreading was a partial 
obstruction in mid-channel — what looked, at first 



68 xrbe faouse in tbe Mater 

glance, like an accidental accumulation of brush 
and stones and mud. A second look, however, and 
his heart jumped with excitement and delight. 
Here was the beginning of a new pond, here were 
the foundations of a new dam. He would be able 
to see what few indeed of the students of the wil- 
derness had had the opportunity to watch — the 
actual process by which these wilderness engineers 
achieved their great work. 

All about the place the straightest and brushiest 
alders had been cut down, those usually selected 
being at least ten or twelve feet in height. Many 
of them were still lying where they fell; but a 
number had been dragged to the stream and an- 
chored securely, with stones and turfy clay, across 
the channel. The Boy noted, with keenest admira- 
tion, that these were all laid with the greatest regu- 
larity parallel with the flow of the current, butts 
up stream, brushy tops below. In this way, the 
current took least hold upon them, and was ob- 
structed gradually and as it were insidiously, with- 
out being challenged to any violent test of strength. 
Already it was lingering in some confusion, back- 
ing up, and dividing its force, and stealing away at 
each side among the bushes. The Boy had heard 



Dam IRepatring an£> Dam Building 69 

that the beavers were accustomed to begin their 
dams by felling a tree across the channel and piling 
their materials upon that as a foundation. But the 
systematic and thorough piece of work before him 
was obviously superior in permanence to any such 
slovenly makeshift; and moreover, further to dis- 
credit such a theory, here was a tall black ash close 
to the stream and fairly leaning over it, as if beg- 
ging to be put to some such use. 

At this spot the Boy stayed his explorations for 
the day. Choosing a bit of dry thicket close by, 
to be a hiding-place for Jabe and himself that 
night, a bunch of spruce and fir where he knew the 
beavers would not come for supplies, he hurried 
back to the camp for a bite of dinner, giving wide 
berth to all the ponds on the way. Building a tiny 
camp-fire he fried himself a couple of slices of 
bacon and brewed a tin of tea for his solitary meal, 
then lay down in the lean-to, with the sun stream- 
ing in upon him, for an hour's nap. 

The night having been a tiring one for his youth- 
ful nerves and muscles, he slept heavily, and awoke 
with a start to find the sun a good two hours nearer 
the horizon. Sleep was still heavy upon him, so he 
went down to the edge of the brook and plunged 



70 Ube Ibcmse in tbe Mater 

his face into the chilly current. Then, picking up 
an axe instead of his rifle, he returned upstream 
to the dam. 

As he drew near, he caught sight of a beaver 
swimming down the pond, towing a big branch 
over its shoulder; and his conscience smote him 
at the thought of the trouble and anxiety he was 
going to inflict upon the diligent little inhabitants. 
His mind was made up, however. He wanted 
knowledge, and the beavers would have to furnish 
it, at whatever cost. A few minutes of vigorous 
work with the axe, a few minutes of relentless 
tugging and jerking upon the upper framework of 
the dam, and he had made a break through which 
the water rushed foaming in a muddy torrent. 
Soon, as he knew, the falling of the pond's level 
would alarm the house-dwellers, and bring them out 
to see what had happened. Then, as soon as dark- 
ness came, there would be a gathering of both 
households to repair the break. 

Hiding in the bushes near by, he saw the water 
slowly go down, but for half an hour the beavers 
gave no sign. Then, close beside the break, a big 
fellow crawled out upon the slope of the dam and 
made a careful survey of the damage. He dis- 



2>am IRepatrtna an& 2)am JSutlDtna 73 

appeared; and presently another came, took a 
briefer look, and vanished. A few minutes later, 
far up the pond, several bushy branches came to 
the surface, as if they had been anchored on the 
bottom and released. They came, apparently float- 
ing, down toward the dam. As they reached the 
break, the heads of several beavers showed them- 
selves above water, and the branches were guided 
across the opening, where they were secured in 
some way which the watcher could not see. They 
did not so very greatly diminish the waste, but they 
checked the destructive violence of it. It was evi- 
dently a temporary makeshift, this; for in the 
next hour nothing more was done. Then the Boy 
got tired, and went back to camp to wait for Jabe 
and nightfall. 

That evening the backwoodsman, forgetting the 
fatigue of his day's cruising in the interest of the 
Boy's story, was no less eager than his companion ; 
and the two, hurrying through an early supper, 
were off for the pond in the first purple of twilight. 
When they reached the Boy's hiding-place by the 
dam the first star was just showing itself in the 
pallid greenish sky, and the surface of the pond, 
with its vague, black reflections, was like a shad- 



74 ube t>ouse in tbe Water 

owed mirror of steel. There was not a sound on 
the air except the swishing rush of the divided 
water over the break in the dam. 

The Boy had timed his coming none too early; 
for the pond had dropped nearly a foot, and the 
beavers were impatient to stop the break. No 
sooner had night fairly settled down than suddenly 
the water began to swirl into circles all about the 
lower end of the po id, and a dozen heads popped 
up. Then more brush appeared, above the island- 
house, and was hurriedly towed down to the dam. 
The brush which had been thrust across the break 
was now removed and relaid longitudinally, 
branchy ends down stream. Here it was held in 
place by some of the beavers while others brought 
masses of clayey turf from the nearest shore to 
secure it. Meanwhile more branches were being 
laid in place, always parallel with the current; and 
in a little while the rushing noise of the overflow 
began to diminish very noticeably. Then a num- 
ber of short, heavy billets were mixed with shorter 
lengths of brush; and all at once the sound of 
rushing ceased altogether. There was not even 
the usual musical trickling and tinkling, for the 
level of the pond was too low for the water to find 



Dam IRepafrinG an& Bam JSutlMna 75 

its customary stealthy exits. At this stage the 
engineers began using smaller sticks, with more 
clay, and a great many small stones, making a very 
solid-looking piece of work. At last the old level 
of the dam crest was reached, and there was no 
longer any evidence of what had happened except 
the lowness of the water. Then, all at once, the 
toilers disappeared, except for one big beaver, who 
kept nosing over every square inch of the work for 
perhaps two minutes, to assure himself of its per- 
fection. When he, at last, had slipped back into 
the water, both Jabe and the Boy got up, as if 
moved by one thought, and stretched their cramped 
legs. 

" I swan ! " exclaimed the woodsman with fer- 
vour. "If that ain't the slickest bit o' work I ever 
seen! Let's go over and kind of inspect the job 
fer 'em!" 

Inspection revealed that the spot which had just 
been mended was the solidest portion of the whole 
structure. Wherever else the water might be al- 
lowed to escape, it was plain the beavers intended 
it should have no more outlet here. 

From the mended dam the Boy now led Jabe 
away up-stream in haste, in the hope of catching 



76 ZTbe t>o\\5c in tbe WLatet 

some beavers at work on the new dam in the alders. 
Having skirted the long pond at a distance, to avoid 
giving alarm-, the travellers went with the utmost 
caution till they reached the swampy level. Then, 
indifferent to the oozy, chilly mud, they crept for- 
ward like minks stealing on their prey ; and at last, 
gaining the fir thicket without mishap, they lay 
prone on the dry needles to rest. 

As they lay, a sound of busy splashing came to 
their ears, which promptly made them forget their 
fatigue. Shifting themselves very slowly and with 
utter silence, they found that the place of ambush 
had been most skilfully chosen. In perfect hiding 
themselves, they commanded a clear and near view 
of the new dam and all its approaches. 

There were two beavers visible, paddling busily 
on the foundations of the dam, while the overflow- 
ing water streamed about them, covering their feet. 
At this stage, most of the water flowed through 
the still uncompacted structure, leaving work on the 
top unimpeded. The two beavers were dragging 
into place a long birch sapling, perhaps eleven feet 
in length, with a thick, bushy top. When laid to 
the satisfaction of the architects, — the butt, of 
course, pointing straight up-stream, — the trunk 



Dam TCepatring an& 2>am ffiutlMng 77 

was jammed firmly down between those already 
placed. Then the more erect and unmanageable of 
the branches were gnawed off and in some way — 
which the observers with all their watchfulness 
could not make out — wattled down among the 
other branches so as to make a woven and coherent 
mass. The earth and sod and small stones which 
were afterwards brought and laid upon the struc- 
ture did not seem necessary to hold it in place, but 
rather for the stoppage of the interstices. 

While this was going on at the dam, a rustling 
of branches and splashing of water turned the 
watchers' attention up-stream. Another beaver 
came in sight, and then another, each partly float- 
ing and partly dragging a straight sapling like 
the first. It seemed that the dam-builders were 
not content to depend altogether on the crooked, 
scraggly alder-growth all about them, but de- 
manded in their foundations a certain proportion 
of the straight er timbers and denser branches of 
the birch. It was quite evident that they knew 
just what they were doing, and how best to do it. 

While the building was going on, yet another 
pair of beavers appeared, and the work was pressed 
with a feverish energy that produced amazing re- 



78 XTbe Douse in tbe Mater 

suits. The Boy remembered a story told him by 
an old Indian, but not confirmed by any natural 
history which he had come across, to the effect that 
when a pair of young beavers set out to establish 
a new pond, some of the old ones go along to lend 
a hand in the building of the dam. It was plain 
that these workers were all in a tremendous hurry ; 
and the Boy could see no reason for haste unless 
it was that the majority of the workers had to get 
back to their own affairs. With the water once 
fairly brought under control, and the pond deep 
enough to afford a refuge from enemies, the young 
pair could be trusted to complete it by themselves, 
get their house ready, and gather their supplies in 
for the winter. The Boy concluded to his own sat- 
isfaction that what he was now watching was the 
analogue, in beaver life, to one of those " house- 
raising " bees which sometimes took place in the 
Settlement, when the neighbours would come to- 
gether to help a man get up the frame of a new 
house. Only, as it seemed to him, the beavers were 
a more serious and more sober folk than the men. 

When this wilderness engineering had progressed 
for an hour under the watchers' eyes, Jabe began 
to grow very tired. The strain of physical immo- 



Dam IRepairfna anb Dam ffiuiifcina 79 

bility told upon him, and he lost interest. He began 
to feel that he knew all about dam-building; and 
as there was nothing more to learn he wanted to 
go back to camp. He glanced anxiously at the 
young face beside him — but there he could see 
no sign of weariness. The Boy was aglow with 
enthusiasm. He had forgotten everything but the 
wonderful little furry architects, their diligence, 
their skill, their cooperation, and the new pond 
there growing swiftly before his eyes. Already it 
was more than twice as wide as when they had 
arrived on the scene; the dam was a good eight 
inches higher; and the clamour of the flowing 
stream was stopped. No, Jabe could see no sym- 
pathy for himself in that eager face. He was 
ashamed to beg off. And moreover, he was loyal 
to his promise of obedience. The Boy, here, was 
Captain. 

Suppressing a sigh, Jabe stealthily and very 
gradually shifted to an easier position, so stealthily 
that the Boy beside him did not know he had 
moved. Then, fixing his eyes once more upon the 
beavers, he tried to renew his interest in them. As 
he stared, he began to succeed amazingly. And no 
wonder ! The beavers all at once began to do such 



80 XTbe Ibouse in tbe XKHater 

amazing things. There were many more of them 
than he had thought; and he was sure he heard 
them giving orders in something that sounded to 
him like the Micmac tongue. He could not believe 
his ears. Then he saw that they were using larger 
stones, instead of mud and turf, in their operations 
— and floating them down the pond as if they were 
corks. He had never heard of such a thing before, 
in all his wilderness experience. He was just about 
to compliment the Boy on this unparalleled display 
of engineering skill, when one particularly large 
beaver, who was hoisting a stone as big as himself 
up the face of the darn, let his burden slip a little. 
Then began a terrible struggle between the beaver 
and the stone. In his agonizing effort — which 
his companions all stopped work to watch — the 
unhappy beaver made a loud, gurgling, gasping 
noise; then, without a hint of warning, dropped 
the stone with a splash, turned like lightning, and 
grabbed Jabe violently by the arm. 

The astonishing scene changed in a twinkling; 
and Jabe realized that the Boy was shaking him. 

" A nice one to watch beavers, you are ! " cried 
the Boy, angry and disappointed. 

" Why — where' ve they all gone to ? " demanded 



Bam IRepairing ant) 2>am BuiiMna 81 

Jabe, rubbing his eyes. " They're the most inter- 
estin' critters I ever hearn tell of ! " 

"Interesting!" retorted the Boy, scornfully. 
" So interesting you went to sleep ! And you 
snored so they thought it was an earthquake. Not 
another beaver'll show a hair round here to-night. 
We'd better go home ! " 

Jabe grinned sheepishly, but answered never a 
word; and silently, in Indian file, the Boy leading, 
the two took the trail back to camp. 




CHAPTER VI 

Ube peril ot tbe Uraps 

T breakfast next morning the Boy had 
quite recovered his good humour, and 
was making merry at Jabe's expense. 
The latter, who was, of course, defenceless and 
abashed, was anxious to give him something new 
to think of. 

" Say," he exclaimed suddenly, after the Boy 
had prodded him with a searching jibe. "If ye'll 
let up on that snore, now, I'll take a day off from 
my cruisin', and show ye somethin' myself." 

" Good ! " said the Boy. " It's a bargain. What 
will you show me? " 

" I'll take ye over to one of my ponds, in next 
valley, an' show ye all the different ways of trap- 
pin' beaver." 

The Boy's face fell. 

" But what do / care about trapping beaver? " he 
cried. " You know I wouldn't trap anything. If I 

82 



XTbe peril ot tbe Uraps 83 

had to kill anything, I'd shoot it, and put it out 
of misery as quick as I could ! " 

" I know all that," responded Jabe. " But trap- 
pin' is somethin' ye want to understand, all the 
same. Ye can't be an all-round woodsman 'less ye 
understand trappin'. An' moreover, there's some 
things ye learn about wild critters in tryin' to git 
the better of 'em that ye can't learn no other way." 

" I guess you're right, Jabe ! " answered the Boy, 
slowly. Knowledge he would have, whether he 
liked the means of getting it or not. But the 
woodsman's next words relieved him. 

" I'll just show ye how, that's all ! " said Jabe. 
" It's a leetle too airly in the season yit fur actual 
trappin'. An' moreover, it's agin the law. Agin 
the law, an' agin common sense, too, fer the fur 
ain't no good, so to speak, fer a month yit. When 
the law an' common sense stand together, then I'm 
fer the law. Come on ! " 

Picking up his axe, he struck straight back into 
the woods, in a direction at right angles to the 
brook. To uninitiated eyes there was no trail; but 
to Jabe, and to the Boy no less, the path was like 
a trodden highway. The pace set by the back- 
woodsman, with his long, slouching, loose-jointed, 



84 XTbe Ibouse in the XRHatet 

flat-footed stride, was a stiff one, but the Boy, who 
was lean and hard, and used his feet straight-toed 
like an Indian, had no fault to find with it. Neither 
spoke a word, as they swung along single file 
through the high-arched and ancient forest, whose 
shadows, so sombre all through summer, were now 
shot here and there with sharp flashes of scarlet 
or pale gleams of aerial gold. Once, rounding a 
great rock of white granite stained with faint pink- 
ish and yellowish reflections from the bright leaves 
glowing over it, they came face to face with a tall 
bull moose, black and formidable-looking as some 
antediluvian monster. The monster, however, had 
no desire to hold the way against therm. He eyed 
them doubtfully for a second, and then went crash- 
ing off through the brush in frank, undignified 
alarm. 

For a good three miles the travellers swung on- 
ward, up a slow long slope, and down a longer, 
slower one into the next valley. The Boy noted 
that the region was one of numberless small brooks 
flowing through a comparatively level land, with 
old, long-deserted beaver-meadows interspersed 
among wooded knolls. Yet for a time there were 



Ube peril ot tbe TTraps 85 

no signs of the actual living beavers. He asked 
the reason, and Jabe said: 

" It's been all trapped over an' over, years back, 
when beaver pelts was high, — an' by Injuns, likely, 
who just cleaned out everything — an' broke down 
the dams, — an' dug out the houses. But the little 
critters is comin' back. Furder up the valley there's 
some good ponds now ! " 

" And now they'll be cleaned out again ! " ex- 
claimed the Boy, with a rush of indignant pity. 

" Not on yer life ! " answered Jabe. " We don't 
do things that way now. We don't play low-down 
tricks on 'em an' clean out a whole family, but jest 
take so many out of each beaver house, an' then 
leave 'em alone two er three years to kinder re- 
cooperate! " 

As Jabe finished they came in sight of a long, 
rather low dam, with a pond spread out beyond it 
that was almost worthy to be called a lake. It was 
of comparatively recent creation, as the Boy's ob- 
servant eye decided at once from the dead trees 
still rising here and there from the water. 

" Gee ! " he exclaimed, under his breath. " That's 
a great pond, Jabe ! " 

"There's no less'n four beaver houses in that 



86 Ubc Douse in tbe TKIlater 

pond ! " said the woodsman, with an air of proud 
possession. " That makes, accordin' to my reck- 
oning anywheres from thirty to thirty-six beaver. 
Bye and bye, when the time comes, I'll kinder thin 
'em out a bit, that's all ! " 

From the crest of the dam all four houses — one 
far out and three close to shore — were visible to 
the Boy's initiated eye; though strangers might 
have taken them to be mere casual accumulations of 
sticks deposited by some whimsical freshet. It 
troubled him to think how many of the architects 
of these cunningly devised dwellings would soon 
have to yield up their harmless and interesting 
lives; but he felt no mission to attempt a reform 
of humanity's taste for furs, so he did not allow 
himself to become sentimental on the subject. Bea- 
vers, like men, must take fate as it comes; and 
he turned an attentive ear to Jabe's lesson. 

" Ye know, of course," said the woodsman, " the 
steel trap we use. We ain't got no use fer the 
tricks of the Injuns, though I'm goin' to tell ye all 
them, in good time. An' we ain't much on new- 
fangled notions, neether. But the old, smooth- 
jawed steel-trap, what kin hold when it gits a grip, 
an' not tear the fur, is good enough for us." 



Ubc peril of tbe Uraps 87 

" Yes, I know all your traps, of all the sizes you 
use, from muskrat up to bear!" interrupted the 
Boy. " What size do you use for the beaver ? " 

" Number four/' answered Jabe. " Jaw's got a 
spread of six and one-half inches or thereabouts. 
But it's all in the where an' the how ye set yer 
trap!" 

" And that's what I want to know about ! " said 
the Boy. " But why don't you shoot the poor little 
beggars? That's quicker for both, and just as easy 
for you, ain't it ? " 

" T'ain't no use shoo tin' a beaver, leastways not 
in the water ! He just sinks like a stone. No, ye've 
got to trap him, to git him. Now, supposin' you 
was goin' to trap, where would ye set the traps ? " 

" I'd anchor them just in the entrances to their 
houses," answered the Boy promptly. " Or along 
their canals, when they've got canals. Or round 
their brush piles an' storage heaps. And when I 
found a tree they'd just partly cut down, I'd set 
a couple of traps, covered up in leaves, each side of 
the trunk, where they'd have to step on the pan 
when they stood up to gnaw." 

" Good for you ! " said Jabe, with cordial appro- 
bation. " Ye'd make a first-class trapper, 'cause 



88 xrbe Ifoouse in tbe Mater 

ye've got the right notion. Every one of them 
things is done, one time or another, by the old 
trapper. But here's one or two wrinkles more 
killin' yet. An' moreover, if ye trap a beaver on 
land ye' re like to lose him one way or another. 
He's got so much purchase, on land, with things 
to git hold on to; he's jest as like as not to twist 
his leg clean off, an' git away. If it's one of his 
fore legs, which is small an' slight, ye know, he's 
most sure to twist it off. An' sometimes he'll do 
the trick even with a hind leg. I've caught lots of 
beaver as had lost a fore leg, an' didn't seem none 
the worse. The fur'd growed over it, an' they was 
slick an' hearty. An' I've caught them as had lost 
a hind leg, an' they was in good condition. A 
beaver'll stand a lot, I tell you. But then, sup- 
posin' you git yer beaver, caught so fast he ain't 
no chance whatever to git clear. Then, like as not, 
some lynx, or wildcat, or fisher, or fox, or even 
maybe a bear, '11 come along an' help himself to Mr. 
Beaver without so much as a by yer leave. No, ye 
want to git him in the water; an' as he's just as 
anxious to git thar as you are to git him thar, that 
suits all parties to a T." 

" Good ! " said the Boy, — not that it really 




OR EVEN MAYBE A BEAR. 



Ube peril of tbe XTraps 9i 

seemed to him good, but to show that he was at- 
tending. 

" But," continued Jabe, " what would ye say 
would most upset the beaver and make 'em care- 
less?" 

The Boy thought for a moment. 

" Breaking their dam ! " he answered tentatively. 

" Egzactly ! " answered the woodsman. " Well, 
now, to ketch beaver sure, make two or three breaks 
in their dam, an' set the traps jest a leetle ways 
above the break, on the upper slope, where they're 
sure to step into 'em when hustlin' round to mend 
the damage. That gits 'em, every time. Ye chain 
each trap to a stake, driven into three or four foot 
of water; an' ye drive another stake about a foot 
an' a half away from the first. When the beaver 
finds himself caught, he dives straight for deep 
water, — his way of gittin' clear of most of his 
troubles. But this time he finds it don't work. The 
trap keeps a holt, bitin' hard. An' in his struggle 
he gits the chain all tangled up 'round the two 
stakes, an' drowns himself. There you have him 
safe, where no lynx nor fox kin git at him." 

" Then, when one of them dies so dreadfully, 
right there before their eyes," said the Boy, u I 



92 Ubc t>ouse In tbe Mater 

suppose the others skin out and let the broken dam 
go ! They must be scared to death themselves ! " 

"Not on yer life, they don't!" responded Jabe. 
" The dam's the thing they care about. They jest 
keep on hustlin' round ; an' they mend up that dam 
if it takes half the beaver in the pond to do it. Oh, 
they're grit, all right, when it comes to standin' by 
the dam;." 

" Hardly seems fair to take them that way, does 
it? " mused the Boy sympathetically. 

" It's a good way," asserted Jabe positively, 
" quick an' sure ! Then, in winter there's another 
good an' sure way, — where ye don't want to 
clean out the whole house, which is killin' the goose 
what lays the golden egg, like the Injuns does ! Ye 
cut a hole in the ice, near the bank. Then ye git 
a good, big, green sapling of birch or willow, run 
the little end 'way out into the pond under the ice, 
an' ram the big end, sharpened, deep into the mud 
of the bank, so the beaver can't pull it out. Right 
under this end you set yer trap. Swimmin' round 
under the ice, beaver comes across this fresh-cut 
sapling an' thinks as how he's got a good thing. 
He set right to work to gnaw it off, close to the 
bank, to take it back to the house an' please the 



Ube peril of tbe Uraps 93 

family. First thing, he steps right into the trap. 
An' that's the end of him. But other beaver'll come 
along an' take the sapling, all the same ! " 

" You spoke of the ways the Indians had, of 
cleaning out the whole family,* suggested the Boy, 
when Jabe had come to a long pause, either because 
he was tired of talking or because he had no more 
to say. 

" Yes, the Injuns' methods was complete. They 
seemed to have the idee there'd always be beaver 
a-plenty, no matter how many they killed. One way 
they had was to mark down the bank holes, the bur- 
rows, an' then break open the houses. This, ye 
must understand, 's in the winter, when there's ice 
all over the pond. When they're drove from their 
houses, in the winter, they take straight to their 
burrows in the bank, where they kin be sure of 
gittin' their heads above water to breathe. Then, 
the Injuns jest drive stakes down in front of the 
holes, — an' there they have 'em, every one. They 
digs down into the burrows, an' knocks Mr. Beaver 
an' all the family on the head." 

" Simple and expeditious ! " remarked the Boy, 
with sarcastic approval. 

" But the nestest job the Injuns makes," con- 



94 ube Ibouse in tbe TKHater 

tinued Jabe, " is by gittin' at the brush pile. Ye 
know, the beaver keeps his winter supply of grub 
in a pile, — a pile of green poles an' saplings an' 
branches, — a leetle ways off from the house. The 
Injun finds this pile, under the ice. Then, cuttin' 
holes through the ice, he drives down a stake fence 
all 'round it, so close nary a beaver kin git through. 
Then he pulls up a stake, on the side next the 
beaver house, an' sticks down a bit of a sliver in 
its place. Now ye kin guess what happens. In 
the house, over beyant, the beavers gits hungry. 
One on 'em goes to git a stick from the pile an' 
bring it inter the house. He finds the pile all fenced 
off. But a stick he must have. Where the sliver 
is, that's the only place he kin git through. Injun, 
waitin' on the ice, sees the sliver move, an' knows 
Mr. Beaver's gone in. He claps the stake down 
agin, in place of the sliver. An' then, of course, 
there's nawthin' left fer Mr. Beaver to do but 
drown. He drowns jest at the place where he come 
in an' couldn't git out agin. That seems to knock 
him out, like, an' he jest gives up right there. In- 
jun fishes him out, dead, puts the sliver back, an' 
waits for another beaver. He don't have to wait 




HE DROWNS JEST AT THE PLACE WHERE HE COME IN.' 



Ube peril of tbe Uraps 97 

long — an' nine times outer ten he gits 'em all. 
Ye see, they must git to the brush pile ! " 

" I'm glad you don't trap them that way, Jabe ! " 
said the Boy. " But tell me, why did you bring 
me away out here to this pond, to tell me all this, 
when you could have done it just as well at my 
pond?" 

" I jest wanted the excuse," answered Jabe, " fer 
takin' a day off from cruisin'. Now, come on, an* 
I'll show ye some more likely ponds." 







CHAPTER VII 

Winter Wnfcer Mater 

OR three days more the Boy and Jabe 
remained in the beaver country; and 
every hour of the time, except when he 
had to sleep, the Boy found full of interest. In 
the daytime he compared the ponds and the dams 
minutely, making measurements and diagrams. At 
night he lay in hiding, beside a different pond each 
night, and gained a rich store of knowledge of the 
manners and customs of the little wilderness engi- 
neers. On one pond — his own, be it said — he 
made a rude raft of logs, and by its help visited 
and inspected the houses on the island. The meas- 
urements he obtained here made his note-book 
pretty complete, as far as beaver life in summer 
and fall was concerned. 

Then Jabe finished his cruising, having covered 
his territory. The packs were made up and slung ; 
the two campers set out on their three days' tramp 



Winter TUnfcer Water 99 

back to the settlements; and the solemn autumn 
quiet descended once more upon the placid beaver 
ponds, the shallow-running brooks, and the low- 
domed Houses in the Water. 

As the weather grew colder; and the earlier 
frosts began to sheathe the surface of the pond 
with clear, black ice, not melting out till noon; and 
the bitten leaves, turning from red and gold to 
brown, fell with ghostly whisperings through the 
gray branches, the little beaver colony in Boy's 
Pond grew feverishly active. Some subtle pres- 
cience warned them that winter would close in early, 
and that they must make haste to finish their stor- 
ing of supplies. The lengthening of their new canal 
completed, their foraging grew easier. Trees fell 
every night, and the brush pile reached a size that 
guaranteed them: immunity from hunger till spring. 
By the time the dam had been strengthened to with- 
stand the late floods, there had been some sharp 
snow-flurries, and the pond was half frozen over. 
Then, in haste, the beavers brought up a quantity 
of mud and grass roots, and plastered the domes 
of their houses thickly till they no longer looked 
like heaps of sticks, but rather resembled huge ant- 
hills. No sooner was this task done than, as if the 



ioo TLbc Douse in tbe TOater 

Beavers had been notified of its coming, the real 
cold came. In one night the pond froze to a depth 
of several inches; and over the roof of the House 
in the Water was a casing of armour hard as stone. 

The frost continued for several days, till the 
stone-like roof was a good foot in thickness, as 
was the ice over the surface of the pond. Then 
a thick, feather-soft, windless snow-fall, lasting 
twenty-four hours, served as a blanket against the 
further piercing of the frost; and the beavers, 
warm-housed, well-provisioned, and barricaded 
against all their enemies but man, settled themselves 
down to their long seclusion from the white, glit- 
tering, bitter, outside world. 

When the winter had tightened its grip, this out- 
side world was full of perils. Hungry lynxes, 
foxes, and fishers ("black cat," the woodsman 
called them) hunted through the silent and pallid 
aisles of the forest They all would have loved 
a meal of warm, fat beaver-meat; and they all 
knew what these low, snow-covered mounds meant. 
In the roof of each house the cunning builders had 
left several tiny, crooked openings for ventilation, 
and the warm 1 air steaming up through these made 
little chimney holes in the snow above. To these, 





J 



u 




7 







-^Aftt-vCS IHiM.-M-il f. . 



HUNTED THROUGH THE SILENT AND PALLID AISLES OF THE 
FOREST." 



TPMnter mnfcer XDClatet 103 

now and then, when stung by the hunger-pangs, 
a lynx or fox would come, and sniff with greedy 
longing at the appetizing aroma. Growing des- 
perate, the prowler would dig down, through per- 
haps three feet of snow, till he reached the stony 
roof of the house. On this he would tear and 
scratch furiously, but in vain. Nothing less than 
a pick-axe would break through that stony defence ; 
and the beavers, perhaps dimly aware of the futile 
assault upon their walls, would go on calmly nib- 
bling birch-sticks in their safe, warm dark. 

Inside the house everything was clean and dry. 
All refuse from the clean repasts of the family was 
scrupulously removed, and even the entrances, far 
out in the pond, were kept free from litter. When 
food was needed, a beaver would slip down into 
the dark water of the tunnel, out into the glimmer- 
ing light of the pond, and straight to the brush pile. 
Selecting a suitable stick, he would tow it back to 
the house, up the main entrance, and into the dry, 
dark chamber. When all the tender bark was eaten 
off, the bare stick would be carried away and de- 
posited on the dam. It was an easy life; and the 
beavers grew fat while all the rest of the wild kin- 
dreds, save the porcupine and the bear, were grow- 



104 Ube t>ouse in tbe Water 

ing lean with famine. There was absolutely noth- 
ing to do but eat, sleep and take such exercise as 
they would by swimming hither and thither at ter- 
rific speed beneath the silver armour of the ice. 

One night, however, there came to the pond an 
enemy of whose powers they had never had expe- 
rience. Wandering down from northwestward, 
under the impulse of one of those migratory whims 
which sometimes give the lie to statistics and tradi- 
tion, came a sinister, dark, slow-moving beast 
whose savage and crafty eyes took on a sudden 
flame when they detected the white mound which 
hid the shore beaver-house. The wolverene did 
not need that faint, almost invisible wisp of vapour 
from the air-holes to tell him there were beavers 
below. He knew something about beavers. His 
powerful forearms and mighty claws got him: to 
the bottom of the snow in a few seconds. Other 
hungry marauders had done the same thing before, 
to find themselves as far off as ever from their aim. 
But the wolverene was not to be balked so easily. 
His cunning nose found the minute openings of the 
air-holes ; and by digging his claws into these little 
apertures he was able to put forth his great strength 
and tear up some tiny fragments of frozen mud. 




A SINISTER, DARK, SLOW -MOVING BEAST. 



Mintet *Gln&er Mater 107 

If he had had the patience to keep on at his stren- 
uous task unremittingly for, perhaps, twenty-four 
hours or more, it is conceivable that this fierce dig- 
ger might have succeeded in making his way into 
the chamber. There was no such implacable pur- 
pose, however, in his attack. In a very little while 
he would have desisted from what he knew to be 
a vain undertaking. Even had he succeeded, the 
beavers would have fled before he could reach them, 
and taken refuge in their burrows under the bank. 
But while he was still engrossed, perhaps only 
amusing himself with the thought of giving the 
dwellers in the house a bad quarter of an hour, it 
chanced that a huge lynx came stealing along 
through the shadows of the trees, which lay blue 
and spectral in the white moonlight. He saw the 
hind quarters of some unknown animal which was 
busy working out a problem which he himself had 
striven in vain to solve. The strange animal was 
plainly smaller than himself. Moreover, he was in 
a position to be taken at a disadvantage. . Both 
these points weighed with the lynx; and he was 
enraged at this attempted poaching upon what he 
chose to regard as his preserves. Creeping stealth- 
ily, stealthily forward, eyes aflame and belly to the 



108 Ube Douse in tbe Water 

snow, he sprang* with a huge bound that landed 
him, claws open, squarely on the wolverene's hind 
quarters. 

Instantly there arose a hideous screeching, growl- 
ing, spitting and snarling, which pierced even to 
the ears of the beavers and sent them scurrying 
wildly to their burrows in the bank. Under ordi- 
nary circumstances the wolverene, with his daunt- 
less courage and tremendous strength, would have 
given a good account of himself with any lynx 
alive. But this time, caught with head down and 
very busy, he stood small chance with his powerful 
and lightning-swift assailant. In a very few min- 
utes the lynx's eviscerating claws had fairly torn 
him to shreds; and thus came to a sudden close 
the invasion of the wolverene. 

But meanwhile, from far over the hills, moving 
up from the lowlands by the sea, approached a 
peril which the beavers did not dream of and could 
find no ingenuity to evade. Two half-breed trap- 
pers, semi-outlaws from the Northern Peninsula, 
in search of fresh hunting-grounds, had come upon 
this rich region of ponds and dams. 




HE SPRANG WITH A HUGE BOUND THAT LANDED HIM, CLAWS OPEN, 
SQUARELY ON THE WOLVERENE'S HIND QUARTERS." 




CHAPTER VIII 
Ube Saving of JSos's IPonfc 

HEN, early in the winter, the lumbermen 
moved into these woods which Jabe had 
cruised over, establishing their camp 
about two miles down-stream from the spot where 
the Boy and the woodsman had had their lean-to, 
Jabe came with them as boss of a gang. He had 
for the time grown out of the mood for trapping. 
Furs were low, and there was a " sight " more 
money for him in lumbering that winter. Popular 
with the rest of the lumbermen — who most of 
them knew of the Boy and his " queer " notions — 
Jabe had no difficulty in pledging them to respect 
the sanctity of Boy's Pond and its inhabitants. In 
fact, in the evenings around the red-hot stove, Jabe 
told such interesting stories of what he and the 
Boy had seen together a few months before, that 
the reckless, big-hearted, boisterously profane but 
sentimental woodsmen were more than half inclined 

ill 



112 XTbe Ifcouse in tbe Mater 

to declare the whole series of ponds tinder the spe- 
cial protection of the camp. As for Boy's Pond, 
that should be safe at any cost. 

Not long after Christmas the Boy, taking advan- 
tage of the fact that some fresh supplies were being 
sent out from the Settlement by team, came to visit 
the camp. The head of the big lumber company 
which owned these woods was a friend of the Boy's 
father, and the Boy himself was welcome in any of 
the camps. His special purpose in coming now 
was to see how his beavers got on in winter, and 
to assure himself that Jabe had been able to protect 
them. 

The morning after his arrival in camp he set 
out to visit the pond. He went on snowshoes, of 
course, and carried his little Winchester as he al- 
ways did in the woods, holding tenaciously that the 
true lover of peace should be ever prepared for 
war. The lumbermen had gone off to work with 
the first of dawn; and far away to his right he 
heard the axes ringing, faintly but crisply, on the 
biting morning air. For half a mile he followed 
a solitary snowshoe trail, which he knew to be 
Jabe's by the peculiar broad toe and long, trailing 
heel which Jabe affected in snowshoes; and he 



Ube Saving of Bos's B>on& 113 

wondered what his friend was doing in this direc- 
tion, so far from the rest of the choppers. Then 
Jabe's track swerved off to the left, crossing the 
brook ; and the Boy tramped on over the unbroken 
snow. 

The sound of the distant choppers soon died 
away, and he was alone in the unearthly silence. 
The sun, not yet risen quite clear of the hilltops, 
sent spectral, level, far-reaching gleams of thin 
pink-and-saflron light down the alleys of the 
sheeted trees. The low crunching of his snow- 
shoes on the crisp snow sounded almost blatant in 
the Boy's tensely listening ears. In spite of him- 
self he began to tread stealthily, as if the sound 
of his steps might bring some ghostly enemy upon 
him from out of the whiteness. 

Suddenly the sound of an axe came faintly to 
his ears from straight ahead, where he knew no 
choppers were at work. He stopped short. That 
axe was not striking wood. It was striking ice. It 
was chopping the ice of Boy's Pond! What could 
it mean? There were no fish in that pond to chop 
the ice for! 

As he realized that some one was preparing to 
trap his beavers his face flushed with anger, and 



114 Ubc Ibouse in tbe Water 

he started forward at a run. That it was no one 
from the camp he knew very well. It must be some 
strange trapper who did not know that this pond 
was under protection. He thought this out as he 
ran on ; and his anger calmed down. Trappers were 
a decent, understanding folk; and a word of ex- 
planation would make things all right. There were 
plenty of other beaver ponds in that neighbour- 
hood. 

Pressing through the white-draped ranks of the 
young fir-trees, he came out suddenly upon the edge 
of the pond, and halted an instant in irresolution. 
Two dark-visaged men — his quick eye knew them 
for half-breeds — were busy on the snow about 
twenty paces above the low mound which marked 
the main beaver house. They had a number of 
stakes with them; and they were cutting a series 
of holes in a circle. From what Jabe had told him 
of the Indian methods, he saw at once that these 
were not regular trappers, but poachers, who were 
violating the game laws and planning to annihilate 
the whole beaver colony by fencing in its brush 
pile. 

The Boy realized now that the situation was a 
delicate if not a dangerous one. For an instant 



Ubc Saving of Bos's pon& us 

he thought of going back to camp for help; but 
one of the men was on his knees, fixing the stakes, 
and the other was already chopping what appeared 
to be the last hole. Delay might mean the death 
of 5everal of his precious beavers. Indignation 
and compassion together urged him on, and his 
young face hardened in unaccustomed lines. 

Walking out upon the snow a little way, he 
halted, at a distance of perhaps thirty paces from 
the poachers. At the sound of his snowshoes the 
two men looked up scowling and apprehensive ; and 
the kneeling one sprang to his feet. They wanted 
no witnesses of their illegal work. 

" Good morning," said the Boy politely. 

At the sound of his soft young voice, the sight 
of his slender figure and youthful face, their appre- 
hensions vanished; but not their anger at being 
discovered. 

" Mornm* ! " growled one, in a surly voice ; while 
the other never opened his mouth. Then they 
looked at each other with meaning question in their 
eyes. How were they going to keep this unwelcome 
visitor from betraying them? 

"I'm going to ask you," said the Boy sweetly, 
" to be so kind as to stop trapping on this pond. 



116 Zbc Douse in tbe XKHatet 

Of course you didn't know it, but this is my pond, 
and there is no trapping allowed on it. It is re- 
served, you know; and I don't want a single one 
of my beavers killed." 

The man with the axe scowled fiercely and said 
nothing. But the other, the one who had been 
driving the stakes, laughed in harsh derision. 

" You don't, hey, sonny? " he answered. " Well, 
you just wait an' watch us. We'll show ye whose 
beaver they be ! " And turning his back in scorn 
of his interlocutor's youth, he knelt down again to 
drive another stake. The man who had not spoken, 
however, stood leaning on his axe, eying the Boy 
with an ugly expression of menace. 

The Boy's usually quiet blood was now pounding 
and tingling with anger. His alert eyes had meas- 
ured the whole situation, and noted that the men 
had no firearms but their rifles, which were leaning 
against a tree on the shore fully fifty yards behind 
them. 

" Stop ! " he cried, with so confident a tone of 
authority that the kneeling man looked up, though 
with a sneer on his face. " Unless you go away 
from this pond at once, I'll get the men from the 
camp, and they'll make you go. They'll not be so 



Ube Savins of IBos's potto 117 

polite as I am. You're just poachers, anyway. 
And the boys will like as not just run you clean out 
of the country. Will you do as I ask you, or shall 
I go and get them? " 

The man with the axe spat out some French 
curse which the Boy didn't understand very clearly. 
But the man at the stakes jumped up again with a 
dangerous grin. 

" You'll stay right where you are, sonny, till 
we're done with you," he snarled. " You under- 
stand? You're a-goin' to git hurt ef ye gits in our 
way any ! See ? " 

The Boy was now in a white rage; but he kept 
his wits cool and his eyes watchful. He realized 
at this moment that he was in great danger; but, 
his mettle being sound, this only made him the more 
resolute. 

" All right. You've decided ! " he said slowly. 
" We'll see what the boys will have to say about it." 

As he spoke he made a movement as if to turn, 
but without taking his eyes from the enemy. The 
movement just served to swing his little Winches- 
ter into a readier position. 

At his first move the man with the axe took a 
step forward, and swung up his axe with a peculiar 



118 Ube Douse in tbe Mater 

gesture which the Boy understood. He had seen 
the woodsmen throw their axes. He knew well 
their quickness and their deadly precision. But 
quickness and precision with the little Winchester 
were his own especial pride, — and, after all, he 
had not turned any further than was just right for 
a good shot. Even as the axe was on the verge of 
leaving the poacher's hand, the rifle cracked sharply. 
The poacher yelled a curse, and his arm dropped. 
The axe flew wide, landing nowhere near its aim. 
On the instant both the half-breeds turned, and 
raced for their rifles on the shore. 

" Stop, or I'll shoot you both ! " shouted the Boy, 
now with embarrassment added to his wrath. In 
their wild fury at being so balked by a boy, both 
men trusted to his missing his aim — or to the hope 
that his gun was not a repeater. They ignored his 
command, and rushed on. The Boy was just going 
to shoot again, aiming at their legs; when, to his 
amazement and inconceivable relief, out from be- 
hind the tree where the poachers' rifles leaned, came 
Jabe. 

Snatching up one of the guns, he echoed the 
Boy's command. 

" Stop right there ! " he ordered curtly. " An* 



Ube Saving of HBop's pon& H9 

up with your hands, too! Mebbe youse kin fling 
a knife slick ez ye kin an axe." 

The half-breeds stood like stones. One held up 
both hands; but the other only held up his left, 
his right being helpless. They knew there was noth- 
ing to say. They were fairly caught. They were 
poaching. The tall lumberman had seen the axe 
flung. Their case was a black one ; and any attempt 
to explain could do no less than make it worse. 
They did not even dare to look at each other, but 
kept their narrow, beady eyes fixed on Jabe's face. 

The Boy came swiftly to Jabe's side. 

" Neat shot! " said the woodsman; but the note 
of astonished admiration in his tone was the most 
thrilling compliment the Boy had ever received. 

" What are you going to do with them, Jabe ? " 
he inquired, mildly. 

" That's f er you to say ! They're yourn ! " an- 
swered Jabe, keeping his eyes on the prisoners. 

The Boy looked the two culprits over carefully, 
with his calm, boyish gaze. He was overwhelm- 
ingly elated, but would have died rather than show 
it. His air was that of one who is quite used to 
capturing two outlaws, — and having axes hurled 
at his head, — and putting bullets through men's 



120 Ubc Ifoouse in tbe TKRater 

shoulders. He could not help feeling sorry for the 
man with the bullet through his shoulder. 

" Well, Jabe," he said presently, " we can't let 
them go with their guns, because they're such 
sneaking brutes, they'd shoot us from behind a tree. 
And we can't let them go without their guns, be- 
cause we can't be sure they wouldn't starve before 
they got to their own homes. And we don't want 
to take them into camp, for the fellows would prob- 
ably treat them as they deserve, — and I don't want 
them to get anything so bad as that! " 

" Maybe it might be better not to let the hands 
git hold of 'em!" agreed Jabe. "They'd be 
rough ! " 

A gleam of hope came into the prisoners' eyes. 
The unwounded one spoke. And he had the per- 
spicacity to address himself to the Boy rather than 
to Jabe, thereby conciliating the Boy appreciably. 

" Let us go ! " he petitioned, choking down his 
rage. " We'll swear to quit, right now an' fer 
good ; an' not to try to git back at yez ! " 

" Ye'll have to leave yer guns ! " said Jabe 
sternly. 

" They're the only guns we got ; an' they're our 
livin', fer the winter ! " protested the half-breed, 
still looking at the Boy. 



TTbe Saving of IBos's Iponfc 121 

" If we take away their guns, what's the good of 
making them swear? " demanded the Boy, stepping 
up and gazing into their eyes. " No, I reckon if 
they give their oath, they'll stick to it. Where's 
your camp, men? " 

" Over yonder, about three mile ! " answered the 
spokesman, nodding toward the northeast. 

" If we give you back your guns," went on the 
Boy gently, " will you both give us your oath to 
clear right out of this country altogether, and not 
trap at all this side of the line? And will you take 
oath, also, that you will never, in any way, try to 
get even with either him or me for having downed 
you this way? " 

" Sartain ! " responded the spokesman, with ob- 
vious sincerity. " I'll swear to all that ! An' I 
won't never want to git even, if you use us so gen- 
tlemanlike ! " 

"And will you swear, too?" inquired the Boy, 
turning to the silent one who had thrown the axe 
at him. The fellow glared at him defiantly for a 
moment, then glanced at his wounded arm, which 
hung limp at his side. At last he answered with a 
sullen growl: 

" Yes, I'll swear ! Got to ! Curse you ! " 



122 ube Ibouse in tfee Mater 

" Good ! " said the Boy. " That's the best way 
for all of us. Jabe, will you take their oaths. You 
know how better than I do ! " 

" All right ! " responded the latter, shrugging 
his shoulders in a way which said — " it's your 
idee, not mine ! " Then he proceeded to bind each 
man separately by an oath which left no loophole, 
and which was sealed by all that their souls held 
sacred. This done, he handed back the rifles, — 
and the two poachers, without a word, turned their 
backs and made off at a swift lope straight up the 
open pond. The Boy and Jabe watched them till 
they vanished among the trees. Then, with a shy 
little laugh, the Boy picked up the axe which had 
been hurled at his head. 

" I'm glad he left me this," he murmured, " to 
kind of remember him by ! " 

" The sneakin' skunk! " growled Jabe. " If I'd 
had my way, it'd be the penitentiary for the both 
of 'em!" 

That evening, when the whole story was told, 
the woodsmen were indignant, for a time, because 
the half-breeds had been let go; but at last they 
gave heed to Jabe's representations, and acknowl- 
edged that the Boy's plan had saved a " sight of 



Ube Saving of Bos's ponb 123 

bother." To guard against future difficulties, how- 
ever, they took a big piece of smooth board, and 
painted the following sign, to be nailed up on a 
conspicuous tree beside the pond. 

NOTICE 

THIS IS BOY'S POND. NO TRAPPING HERE. 

IF ANYBODY WANTS TO SAY, WHY NOT? LAWLER's 

CAMP WILL LET HIM KNOW. 




Zhc Wbfte=0la6beD Bull 

ER back crushed beneath the massive 
weight of a " deadfall/' the mother 
moose lay slowly sobbing her life out on 
the sweet spring air. The villainous log, weighted 
cunningly with rocks, had caught her just above 
the withers, bearing her forward so that her fore- 
legs were doubled under her, and her neck out- 
stretched so that she could not lift her muzzle from 
the wet moss. Though her eyes were already glaz- 
ing, and her nostrils full of a blown and blood- 
streaked froth, from time to time she would strug- 
gle desperately to raise her head, for she yearned 
to lick the sprawling, wobbling legs of the ungainly 
calf which stood close beside her, bewildered be- 
cause she would not rise and suckle him. 

The dying animal lay in the middle of the trail, 
which was an old, half -obliterated logger's road, 
running straight east into the glow of the spring 
sunrise. The young birches and poplars, filmed 

124 



Zbc Mbtte^lasbeb 3BulI 125 

with the first of the green, crowded close upon the 
trail, with, here and there, a rose-blooming maple, 
here and there, a sombre, black-green hemlock, 
towering over the thick second growth. The early 
air was fresh, but soft; fragrant with the breath 
of opening buds. Faint mists streamed up into the 
sunlight along the mossy line of the trail, and the 
only sounds breaking the silence of the wilderness 
were the sweetly plaintive calls of two rain-birds, 
answering each other slowly over the tree-tops. 
Everything in the scene — the tenderness of the 
colour and the air, the responses of the mating 
birds, the hope and the expectancy of all the waking 
world — seemed piteously at variance with the 
anguish of the stricken mother and her young, 
down there in the solitude of the trail. 

Presently, in the undergrowth beside the trail, 
a few paces beyond the deadfall, a twig snapped 
sharply. Admonished by that experience of a thou- 
sand ancestral generations which is instinct, the 
calf lifted his big awkward ears apprehensively, 
and with a shiver drew closer to his mother's 
crushed body. A moment later a gaunt black bear 
thrust his head and shoulders forth from the under- 
growth, and surveyed the scene with savage, but 



126 TTbe Douse in tbe Mater 

shrewd, little eyes. He was hungry, and to his 
palate no other delicacy the spring wilderness could 
ever afford was equal to a young moose calf. But 
the situation gave him pause. The mother moose 
was evidently in a trap; and the bear was wary 
of all traps. He sank back into the undergrowth, 
and crept noiselessly nearer to reconnoitre. In his 
suspicious eyes even a calf might be dangerous 
to tamper with, under such unusual conditions as 
these. As he vanished the calf shuddered violently, 
and tried to climb upon his mother's mangled body. 
In a few seconds the bear's head appeared again, 
close by the base of the deadfall. With crafty 
nose he sniffed at the great timber which held the 
moose cow down. The calf was now almost within 
reach of the deadly sweep of his paw ; but the man- 
smell was strong on the deadfall, and the bear was 
still suspicious. While he hesitated, from behind 
a bend in the trail came a sound of footsteps. The 
bear knew the sound. A man was coming. Yes, 
certainly there was some trick about it. With a 
grunt of indignant disgust he shrank back again 
into the thicket and fled stealthily from so dan- 
gerous a neighbourhood. Hungry as he was, he 
had no wish to try conclusions with man. 



Gbe Mbite^slasbefc Bull 127 

The woodsman came striding down the trail hur- 
riedly, rounded the turn, and stopped abruptly. He 
understood at a glance the evil work of the game 
poachers. With indignant pity, he stepped forward 
and drew a merciful knife across the throat of the 
suffering beast. The calf shrank away and stood 
staring at him anxiously, wavering between terror 
and trust. 

For a moment or two the man hesitated. Of one 
thing he was certain : the poachers who had set the 
deadfall must not profit by their success. More- 
over, fresh moose-meat would not be unappreciated 
in his backwoods cabin. He turned and retraced 
his steps at a run, fearing lest some hungry spring 
marauders should arrive in his absence. And the 
calf, more than ever terrified by his mother's un- 
responsiveness, stared after him uneasily as he van- 
ished. 

For half an hour nothing happened. The early 
chill passed from the air, a comforting warmth 
glowed down the trail, the two rain-birds kept 
whistling to each other their long, persuasive, mel- 
ancholy call, and the calf stood motionless, waiting, 
with the patience of the wild, for he knew not what. 
Then there came a clanking of chains, a trampling 



128 xrfoe ibouse in tfoe Water 

of heavy feet, and around the turn appeared the 
man again, with a pair of big brown horses har- 
nessed to a drag-sled. The calf backed away as the 
man approached, and watched with dull wonder 
as the great log was rolled aside and his mother's 
limp, crushed form was hoisted laboriously upon 
the sled. This accomplished, the man turned and 
came to him gently, with hand outstretched. To 
run away would have been to run away from the 
shelter of his mother's presence; so, with a snort 
of apprehension, he submitted to being stroked and 
rubbed about the ears and neck and throat. The 
sensation was curiously comforting, and suddenly 
his fear vanished. With his long, mobile muzzle-he 
began to tug appealingly at a convenient fold of 
the man's woollen sleeve. Smiling complacently 
at this sign of confidence, the man left him, and 
started the team at a slow walk up the trail. With 
a hoarse bleat of alarm, thinking he was about to 
be deserted, the calf followed after the sled, his 
long legs wobbling awkwardly. 

From the first moment that she set eyes upon 
him, shambling awkwardly into the yard at her hus- 
band's heels, Jabe Smith's wife was inhospitable 
toward the ungainly youngling of the wild. She 



XTbe TKHbtte^sIasbefc Bull 129 

declared that he would take all the milk. And he 
did. For the next two months she was unable to 
make any butter, and her opinions on the subject 
were expressed without reserve. But Jabe was in- 
flexible, in his taciturn, backwoods way, and the 
calf, till he was old enough to pasture, got all the 
milk he wanted. He grew and throve so astonish- 
ingly that Jabe began to wonder if there was not 
some mistake in the scheme of things, making cows' 
milk the proper nutriment for moose calves. By 
autumn the youngster was so big and sleek that he 
might almost have passed for a yearling. 

Jabe Smith, lumberman, pioneer and guide, loved 
all animals, even those which in the fierce joy of the 
hunt he loved to kill. The young moose bull, how- 
ever, was his peculiar favourite — partly, perhaps, 
because of Mrs. Smith's relentless hostility to it. 
And the ungainly youngster repaid his love with 
a devotion that promised to become embarrassing. 
All around the farm he was for ever at his heels, 
like a dog; and if, by any chance, he became sep- 
arated from his idol, he would make for him in 
a straight line, regardless of currant bushes, bean 
rows, cabbage patches or clothes-lines. This stren- 
uous directness did not further endear him to Mrs. 



130 Ube 1bou5e in tbe Mater 

Smith. That good lady used to lie awake at night, 
angrily devising schemes for getting rid of the 
" ugly brute." These schemes of vengeance were 
such a safety-valve to her injured feelings that she 
would at last make up her mind to content herself 
with " takin' it out on the hide o' the critter " next 
day, with a sound hickory stick. When next day 
came, however, and she went out to milk, the 
youngster would shamble up to greet her with such 
amiable trust in his eyes that her wrath would be, 
for the moment, disarmed, and her fell purpose 
would fritter out in a futile " Scat, you brute ! " 
Then she would condone her weakness by thinking 
of what she would do to the animal " some day." 

That " some day," as luck would have it, came 
rather sooner than she expected. From the first, 
the little moose had evinced a determination to take 
up his abode in the kitchen, in his dread of being 
separated from Jabe. Being a just man, Jabe had 
conceded at once that his wife should have the 
choosing of her kitchen guests ; and, to avoid com- 
plications, he had rigged up a hinged bar across 
the kitchen doorway, so that the door could safely 
stand open. When the little bull was not at Jabe's 
heels, and did not know where to find him, his 



Ubc TKHbite^lasbefc Bull 131 

favourite attitude was standing in front of the 
kitchen door, his long nose thrust in as far as the 
bar would permit, his long ears waving hopefully, 
his eyes intently on the mysterious operations of 
Mrs. Jabe's housework. Though she would not 
have acknowledged it for worlds, even to her in- 
most heart, the good woman took much satisfaction 
out of that awkward, patient presence in the door- 
way. When things went wrong with her, in that 
perverse way so trying to the careful housewife, 
she could ease her feelings wonderfully by express- 
ing them without reserve to the young moose, who 
never looked amused or attempted to answer back. 

But one day, as it chanced, her feelings claimed 
a more violent easement — and got it. She was 
scrubbing the kitchen floor. Just in the doorway 
stood the scrubbing-pail, full of dirty suds. On 
a chair close by stood a dish of eggs. The moose 
calf was nowhere in sight, and the bar was down. 
Tired and hot, she got up from her aching knees 
and went over to the stove to see if the pot was 
boiling, ready to make fresh suds. 

At this moment the young bull, who had been 
searching in vain all over the farm for Jabe, came 
up to the door with a silent, shambling rush. The 



132 XTbe Ibouse in tbe TKHater 

bar was down. Surely, then, Jabe was inside! 
Overjoyed at the opportunity he lurched his long 
legs over the threshold. Instantly his great, loose 
hoofs slid on the slippery floor, and he came down 
sprawling, striking the pail of dirty suds as he 
fell. With a seething souse the slops went abroad, 
all over the floor. At the same time the bouncing 
pail struck the chair, turned it over, and sent the 
dish of eggs crashing in every direction. 

For one second Mrs. Jabe stared rigidly at the 
mess of eggs, suds and broken china, at the startled 
calf struggling to his feet. Then, with a hysterical 
scream, she turned, snatched the boiling pot from 
the stove, and hurled it blindly at the author of all 
mischief. 

Happily for the blunderer, Mrs. Jabe's rage was 
so unbridled that she really tried to hit the object 
of it. Therefore, she missed. The pot went crash- 
ing through the leg of a table and shivered to atoms 
against the log wall, contributing its full share to 
the discouraging mess on the floor. But, as it 
whirled past, a great wedge of the boiling water 
leaped out over the rim, flew off at a tangent, and 
caught the floundering calf full in the side, in a 
long flare down from the tip of the left shoulder. 



Ube TKabite*s[asbet> Bull 133 

The scalding fluid seemed to cling in the short, fine 
hair almost like an oil. With a loud bleat of pain 
the calf shot to his feet and went galloping around 
the yard. Mrs. Jabe rushed to the door, and stared 
at him wide-eyed. In a moment her senses came 
back to her, and she realized what a hideous thing 
she had done. Next she remembered Jabe — and 
what he would think of it ! 

Then, indeed, her conscience awoke in earnest, 
and a wholesome dread enlivened her remorse. 
Forgetting altogether the state of her kitchen, she 
rushed through the slop to the flour-barrel. Flour, 
she had always heard, was the thing for burns and 
scalds. The pesky calf should be treated right, if 
it took the whole barrel. Scooping up an extrav- 
agant dishpanful of the white, powdery stuff, and 
recklessly spilling a lot of it to add to the mixture 
on the floor, she rushed out into the yard to apply 
her treatment, and, if possible, poultice her con- 
science. 

The young moose, anguished and bewildered, 
had at last taken refuge in the darkest corner of 
the stable. As Mrs. Jabe approached with her pan 
of flour, he stood staring and shaking, but made 
no effort to avoid her, which touched the over- 



134 XTbe ibouse in tbe Mater 

impetuous dame to a fresh pang of penitence. She 
did not know that the stupid youngster had quite 
failed to associate her in any way with his suffer- 
ing. It was only the pot — the big, black thing 
which had so inexplicably come bounding at him 
— that he blamed. From Mrs. Jabe's hands he ex- 
pected some kind of consolation. 

In the gloom of the stall Mrs. Jabe could not see 
the extent of the calf's injury. " Mebbe the water 
wasn't quite bilin' ! " she murmured hopefully, 
coaxing and dragging the youngster forth into the 
light. The hope, however, proved vain as brief. 
In a long streak down behind the shoulder the hair 
was already slipping off. 

" Sarved ye right ! " she grumbled remorsefully, 
as with gentle fingers she began sifting the flour 
up and down over the wound. The light stuff 
seemed to soothe the anguish for the moment, and 
the sufferer stood quite still till the scald was thor- 
oughly covered with a tenacious white cake. Then 
a fresh and fiercer pang seized the wound. With 
a bleat he tore himself away, and rushed off, tail 
in air, across the stump-pasture and into the woods. 

" Mebbe he won't come back, and then Jabe 
won't never need to know ! " soliloquized Mrs. 
Jabe, returning to clean up her kitchen. 



Ube IKabite^slasbefc Bull 135 

The sufferer returned, however, early in the 
afternoon, and was in his customary attitude before 
the door when Jabe, a little later, came back also. 
The long white slash down his favourite's side 
caught the woodsman's eye at once. He looked 
at it critically, touched the flour with tentative fin- 
ger-tips, then turned on his wife a look of poignant 
interrogation. But Mrs. Jabe was ready for him. 
Her nerve had recovered. The fact that her victim 
showed no fear of her had gradually reassured her. 
What Jabe didn't know would never hurt him, she 
mused. 

" Yes, yer pesky brat come stumblin' into the 
kitchen when the bar was down, a-lookin' for ye. 
An' he upset the bilin' water I was goin' to scrub 
with, an' broke the pot. An' I've got to have a new 
pot right off, Jabe Smith — mind that ! " 

"Scalded himself pretty bad!" remarked Jabe. 
"Poor little beggar!" 

" I done the best / know'd how f er him ! " said 
his wife with an injured air. " Wasted most a 
quart o' good flour on his worthless hide! Wish't 
he'd broke his neck 'stead of the only pot I got 
that's big enough to bile the pig's feed in ! " 

" Well, you done jest about right, I reckon, 



136 Ubc Douse in tbe Mater 

Mandy," replied Jabe, ashamed of his suspicions. 
" I'll go in to the Cross Roads an' git ye a new pot 
to-morrer, an' some tar for the scald. The tar'll 
be better'n flour, an' keep the flies off." 

" I s'pose some men ain't got nothin' better to 
do than be doctorin' up a fool moose calf ! " as- 
sented Mrs. Jabe promptly, with a snort of cen- 
sorious resignation. 

Whether because the flour and the tar had vir- 
tues, or because the clean flesh of the wild kindreds 
makes all haste to purge itself of ills, it was not 
long before the scald was perfectly healed. But the 
reminder of it remained ineffaceable — a long, 
white slash down across the brown hide of the 
young bull, from the tip of the left fore shoulder. 

Throughout the winter the young moose con- 
tentedly occupied the cow-stable, with the two cows 
and the yoke of red oxen. He throve on the fare 
Jabe provided for him — good meadow hay with 
armfuls of " browse " cut from the birch, poplar 
and cherry thickets. Jabe trained him to haul a 
pung, finding him slower to learn than a horse, 
but making up for his dulness by his docility. He 
had to be driven with a snaffle, refusing absolutely 
to admit a bit between his teeth ; and, with the best 



Ube Mbite^lasbet) Bull 137 

good-will in the world, he could never be taught 
to allow for the pung or sled to which he was har- 
nessed. If left alone for a moment he would walk 
over fences with it, or through the most tangled 
thickets, if thereby seemed the most direct way to 
reach Jabe; and once, when Jabe, vaingloriously 
and at great speed, drove him in to the Cross 
Roads, he smashed the vehicle to kindling-wood in 
the amiable determination to follow his master into 
the Cross Roads store. On this occasion also he 
made himself respected, but unpopular, by killing, 
with one lightning stroke of a great fore hoof, a 
huge mongrel mastiff belonging to the storekeeper. 
The mastiff had sprung out at him wantonly, re- 
senting his peculiar appearance. But the store- 
keeper had been so aggrieved that Jabe had felt 
constrained to mollify him with a five-dollar bill. 
He decided, therefore, that his favourite's value 
was as a luxury, rather than a utility; and the 
young bull was put no more to the practices of a 
horse. Jabe had driven a bull moose in harness, 
and all the settlement could swear to it. The glory 
was all his. 

By early summer the young bull was a tremen- 
dous, long-legged, high-shouldered beast, so big, 



138 xibe f>ouse in tbe XKHater 

so awkward, so friendly, and so sure of everybody's 
good-will that everybody but Jabe was terribly 
afraid of him. He had no conception of the pur- 
poses of a fence; and he could not be taught that 
a garden was not meant for him to lie down in. 
As the summer advanced, and the young bull's 
stature with it, Jabe Smith began to realize that 
his favourite was an expensive and sometimes em- 
barrassing luxury. Nevertheless, when September 
brought budding spikes of horns and a strange new 
restlessness to the stalwart youngster, and the first 
full moon of October lured him one night away 
from the farm, on a quest which he could but blindly 
follow, Jabe was inconsolable. 

" He ain't no more'n a calf yet, big as he is! " 
fretted Jabe. " He'll be gittin' himself shot, the 
fool. Or mebbe some old bull'll be after givin' him 
a lickin' fer inter fer in', and he'll come home to 
us!" 

To which his wife retorted with calm superiority: 
" Ye' re a bigger fool'n even I took ye fer, Jabe 
Smith." 

But the young bull did not come back that win- 
ter, nor the following summer, nor the next year, 
nor the next. Neither did any Indian or hunter or 



Ube Mbite^lasbefc JSull 139 

lumberman have anything to report as to a bull 
moose of great stature, with a long white slash 
down his side. Either his quest had carried him 
far to other and alien ranges, or some fatal mis- 
chance of the wild had overtaken his inexperience. 
The latter was Jabe's belief, and he concluded that 
his ungainly favourite had too soon taken the long 
trail for the Red Men's land of ghosts. 

Though Jabe Smith was primarily a lumberman 
and backwoods farmer, he was also a hunter's 
guide, so expert that his services in this direction 
were not to be obtained without very special induce- 
ment. At " calling " moose he was acknowledged 
to have no rival. When he laid his grimly-humour- 
ous lips to the long tube of birch-bark, which is the 
" caller's " instrument of illusion, there would 
come from it a strange sound, great and grotesque, 
harsh yet appealing, rude yet subtle, and mysterious 
as if the uncomprehended wilderness had itself 
found voice. Old hunters, wise in all woodcraft, 
had been deceived by the sound — and much more 
easily the impetuous bull, waiting, high-antlered 
and eager, for the love-call of his mate to summon 
him down the shore of the still and moon-tranced 
lake. 



140 Ube Ifoouse in tbe IPdlatet 

When a certain Famous Hunter, whose heart 
took pride in horns and heads and hides — the 
trophies won by his unerring rifle in all four cor- 
ners of earth — found his way at last to the tum- 
bled wilderness that lies about the headwaters of the 
Quah Davie, it was naturally one of the great New 
Brunswick moose that he was after. Nothing but 
the noblest antlers that New Brunswick forests 
bred could seem to him worthy of a place on those 
walls of his, whence the surly front of a musk-ox 
of the Barren Grounds glared stolid defiance to the 
snarl of an Orinoco jaguar, and the black, colossal 
head of a Kadiak bear was eyed derisively by the 
monstrous and malignant mask of a two-horned 
rhinoceros. With such a quest upon him, the Fa- 
mous Hunter came, and naturally sought the guid- 
ance of Jabe Smith, whom he lured from the tamer 
distractions of a " timber cruise " by double pay 
and the pledge of an extravagant bonus if the quest 
should be successful. 

The lake, lying low between its wooded hills, 
was like a glimmering mirror in the misty October 
twilight when Jabe and the Famous Hunter crept 
stealthily down to it. In a dense covert beside the 
water's edge they hid themselves. Beside them 




IT WAS NOT UNTIL THE MOON APPEARED 
TO CALL." 



THAT JABE BEGAN 



XTbe XKHbite^slasbefc JSuli 143 

stretched the open ribbon of a narrow water- 
meadow, through which a slim brook, tinkling 
faintly over its pebbles, slipped out into the still- 
ness. Just beyond the mouth of the brook a low, 
bare spit of sand jutted forth darkly upon the pale 
surface of the lake. 

It was not until the moon appeared — a red, om- 
inous segment of a disk — over the black and 
rugged ridge of the hills across the lake, that Jabe 
began to call. Three times he set the hollow birch- 
bark to his mouth, and sent the hoarse, appealing 
summons echoing over the water. And the man, 
crouching invisible in the thick shadow beside him, 
felt a thrill in his nerves, a prickling in his cheeks, 
at that mysterious cry, which seemed to him to have 
something almost of menace in its lure. Even so, 
he thought, might Pan have summoned his fol- 
lowers, shaggy and dangerous, yet half divine, to 
some symbolic revel. 

The call evoked no answer of any kind. Jabe 
waited till the moon, still red and distorted, had 
risen almost clear of the ridge. Then he called 
again, and yet again, and again waited. From 
straight across the strangely-shadowed water came 
a sudden sharp crashing of underbrush, as if some 



144 ube Ibouse In tfoe TKHater 

one had fallen to beating the bushes furiously with 
sticks. 

"That's him!" whispered Jabe. "An' he's a 
big one, sure ! " 

The words were not yet out of his mouth when 
there arose a most startling commotion in the 
thicket close behind them, and both men swung 
around like lightning, jerking up their rifles. At 
the same instant came an elusive whiff of pungency 
on the chill. 

" Pooh ! only a bear ! " muttered Jabe, as the 
commotion retreated in haste. 

" Why, he was close upon us ! " remarked the vis- 
itor. " I could have poked him with my gun ! Had 
he any special business with us, do you suppose? " 

" Took me for a cow moose, an' was jest a-goin' 
to swipe me ! " answered Jabe, rather elated at the 
compliment which the bear had paid to his counter- 
feit. 

The Famous Hunter drew a breath' of profound 
satisfaction. 

" I'll be hanged," he whispered, " if your amiable 
New Brunswick backwoods can't get up a thrill 
quite worthy of the African jungle ! " 

" St! " admonished Jabe. " He's a-comin'. An' 



XTbe TKUbfte^slasbefc JBull 145 

mad, too! Thinks that racket was another bull, 
gittin' ahead of 'im. Don't ye breathe now, no 
more ! " And raising the long bark, he called 
through it again, this time more softly, more en- 
ticingly, but always with that indescribable wild- 
ness, shyness and roughness rasping strangely 
through the note. The hurried approach of the 
bull could be followed clearly around the head of 
the lake. It stopped, and Jabe called again. In a 
minute or two there came a brief, explosive, grunt- 
ing reply — this time from a point much nearer. 
The great bull had stopped his crashing progress 
and was slipping his vast, impetuous bulk through 
the underbrush as noiselessly as a weasel. The 
stillness was so perfect after that one echoing re- 
sponse that the Famous Hunter turned a look of in- 
terrogation upon Jabe's shadowy face. The latter 
breathed almost inaudibly : " He's a-comin\ He's 
nigh here ! " And the hunter clutched his rifle with 
that fine, final thrill of unparalleled anticipation. 

The moon was now well up, clear of the treetops 
and the discolouring mists, hanging round and 
honey-yellow over the hump of the ridge. The 
magic of the night deepened swiftly. The sandspit 
and the little water-meadow stood forth unshad- 



146 Ube Douse in tbe Water 

owed in the spectral glare. Far out in the shine of 
the lake a fish jumped, splashing sharply. Then a 
twig snapped in the dense growth beyond the 
water-meadow. Jabe furtively lifted the bark, and 
mumbled in it caressingly. The next moment — 
so suddenly and silently that it seemed as if he had 
taken instant shape in the moonlight — appeared 
a gigantic moose, standing in the meadow, his head 
held high, his nostrils sniffing arrogant inquiry. 
The broadly-palmated antlers crowning his mighty 
head were of a spread and symmetry such as Jabe 
had never even imagined. 

Almost imperceptibly the Hunter raised his rifle 
— a slender shadow moving in paler shadows. 
The great bull, gazing about expectantly for the 
mate who had called, stood superb and indomitable, 
ghost-gray in the moonlight, a mark no tyro could 
miss. A cherry branch intervened, obscuring the 
foresight of the Hunter's rifle. The Hunter shifted 
his position furtively. His crooked finger was just 
about to tighten on the trigger. At this moment, 
when the very night hung stiller as if with a sense 
of crisis, the giant bull turned, exposing his left 
flank to the full glare of the moonlight. Something 
gleamed silver down his side, as if it were a shining 
belt thrown across his shoulder. 







SOMETHING GLEAMED SILVER DOWN HIS SIDE. 



Qbc Mbite^slasbefc Bull 149 

With a sort of hiss from between his teeth Jabe 
shot out his long arm and knocked up the barrel 
of the rifle. In the same instant the Hunter's finger 
had closed on the trigger. The report rang out, 
shattering the night; the bullet whined away high 
over the treetops, and the great bull, springing at 
one bound far back into the thickets, vanished like 
an hallucination. 

Jabe stood forth into the open, his gaunt face 
working with suppressed excitement. The Hunter 
followed, speechless for a moment between amaze- 
ment, wrath and disappointment. At last he found 
voice, and quite forgot his wonted courtesy. 

" D — n you ! " he stammered. " What do you 
mean by that ? What in " 

But Jabe, suddenly calm, turned and eyed him 
with a steadying gaze. 

" Quit all that, now ! " he retorted crisply. " I 
knowed jest what I was doin' ! I knowed that bull 
when he were a leetle, awkward staggerer. I brung 
him up on a bottle ; an' I loved him. He skun out 
four years ago. I'd most ruther 'ave seen you shot 
than that ther' bull, I tell ye ! " 

The Famous Hunter looked sour ; but he was be- 
ginning to understand the situation, and his anger 



150 Ube Ibouse in tbe Mater 

died down. As he considered, Jabe, too, began to 
see the other side of the situation. 

" I'm right sorry to disapp'int ye so ! " he went 
on apologetically. " We'll hev to call off this deal 
atween you an' me, I reckon. An' there ain't goin' 
to be no more shooting over this range, if I kin 
help it — an' I guess I kin ! — till I kin git that 
trier* white-slashed bull drove away back over on to 
the Upsalquitch, where the hunters won't fall foul 
of him! But I'll git ye another guide, jest as good 
as me, or better, what ain't got no particular friends 
runnin' loose in the woods to bother 'im. An' I'll 
send ye 'way down on to the Sevogle, where ther's 
as big heads to be shot as ever have been. I can't 
do more." 

" Yes, you can ! " declared the Famous Hunter, 
who had quite recovered his self-possession. 

" What is it? " asked Jabe doubtfully. 

" You can pardon me for losing my temper and 
swearing at you ! " answered the Famous Hunter, 
holding out his hand. " I'm glad I didn't knock 
over your magnificent friend. It's good for the 
breed that he got off. But you'll have to find me 
something peculiarly special now, down on that 
Sevogle." 




Mben tbe Blueberries Hre IRipe 

HE steep, rounded, rock-scarred face of 
Bald Mountain, for all its naked grim- 
ness, looked very cheerful in the last of 
the warm-coloured sunset. There were no trees; 
but every little hollow, every tiny plateau, every bit 
of slope that was not too steep for clinging roots to 
find hold, was clothed with a mat of blueberry 
bushes. The berries, of an opaque violet-blue tone 
(much more vivid and higher in key than the same 
berries can show when picked and brought to 
market) were so large and so thickly crowded as 
to almost hide the leaves. They gave the austere 
steeps of " Old Baldy " the effect of having been 
dyed with a wash of cobalt. 

Far below, where the lonely wilderness valley 
was already forsaken by the sun, a flock of ducks 
could be seen, with long, outstretched necks rigid 
and short wings swiftly beating, lined out over a 

151 



152 XTbc Ibouse in tbe Mater 

breadth of wild meadow'. Above the lake which 
washed the foot of the mountain, — high above the 
water, but below the line of shadow creeping up 
the mountain's face, — a single fish-hawk circled 
slowly, waiting for the twilight coolness to bring 
the big trout to the surface to feed. The smooth 
water glimmered pallidly, and here and there a 
spreading, circular ripple showed that the hungry 
fish were beginning to rise. 

Up in the flood of the sunset, the blueberries 
basked and glowed, some looking like gems, some 
like blossoms, according to the fall of the light. 
Around the shoulder of the mountain toward the 
east, where the direct rays of the sun could not 
reach, the light was yet abundant, but cool and ten- 
der, — and here the vivid berries were beginning to 
lose their colour, as a curved moon, just rising over 
the far, ragged rim of the forest, touched them 
with phantom silver. Everywhere jutting rocks 
and sharp crevices broke the soft mantle of the blue- 
berry thickets; and on the southerly slope, where 
sunset and moonrise mingled with intricate shad- 
ows, everything looked ghostlike and unreal. On 
the utmost summit of the mountain a rounded peak 
of white granite, smoothed by ages of storm, shone 
like a beacon. 




AN OLD SHE-BEAR WITH TWO HALF-GROWN CUBS. 



mben tbe Blueberries Hre 1Rtpe 155 

The only berry-pickers that came to these high 
slopes of Bald Mountain were the wild kindreds, 
furred and feathered. Of them all, none were more 
enthusiastic and assiduous than the bears; and just 
now, climbing up eagerly from the darkening woods 
below, came an old she-bear with two half-grown 
cubs. They came up by easy paths, zigzagging 
past boulder and crevice, through the ghostly, noise- 
less contention of sunlight and moonlight. Now 
their moving shadows lay one way, now the other; 
and now their shadows were suddenly wiped out, as 
the two lights for a moment held an even balance. 
At length having reached a little plateau where the 
berries were particularly large and close-clustered, 
the old bear stopped, and they fell joyously to their 
feeding. 

On these open heights there were no enemies 
to keep watch against, and there was no reason 
to be wary or silent. The bears fed noisily, there- 
fore, stripping the plump fruit cleverly by the paw- 
ful, and munching with little, greedy grunts of 
delight. There was no other food quite so to their 
taste as these berries, unless, perhaps, a well-filled 
honey-comb. And this was their season for eating, 
eating, eating, all the time, in order to lay up abun- 
dant fat against the long severity of winter. 



156 xrbe t)ouse in tbe TKDlatet 

As the bushes about them were stripped of the 
best fruit, the shaggy feasters moved around the 
shoulder of the mountain from the gold of the sun 
into the silver of the moon. Soon the sunset had 
faded, and the moon had it all her own way except 
for a broad expanse of sea-green sky in the west, 
deepening through violet to a narrow streak of 
copper on the horizon. By this time the shadows, 
especially on the eastern slope, were very sharp 
and black, and the open spaces very white and radi- 
ant, with a strange transparency borrowed from 
that high, pure atmosphere. 

It chanced that the little hollow on which the 
bears were just now revelling, — a hollow where 
the blueberries were unbelievably large and abun- 
dant — was bounded on its upper side, toward the 
steep, by a narrow and deep crevice. At one end 
of the cleft, from a rocky and shallow roothold, a 
gnarled birch grew slantingly. From its unusual 
situation, and from the fact that the bushes grew 
thick to its very edge, this crevice constituted noth- 
ing less than a most insidious trap. 

One of the cubs, born with the instinct of cau- 
tion, kept far away from the dangerous brink with- 
out having more than half realized that there was 



Wben tbe ^Blueberries Hre IRipe 157 

any danger there whatever. The other cub was 
one of those blundering fellows, to be found among 
the wild kindreds no less than among the kindreds 
of men, who only get caution hammered into them 
by experience. He saw a narrow break, indeed, 
between the berry patch and the bare steep above, 
— but what was a little crevice in a position like 
this, where it could not amount to anything ? Had 
it been on the other side of the hollow, he would 
have feared a precipice, and would have been on 
his guard. But, as it was, he never gave the mat- 
ter a second thought, because it did not look dan- 
gerous! He found the best berries growing very 
near the edge of the crevice ; and in his satisfaction 
he turned his back to the height and settled himself 
solidly upon his haunches to enjoy them. As he 
did so the bushes gave way behind him, he pitched 
abruptly backwards, and vanished with a squeal 
of terror into the narrow cleft of darkness. 

The crevice was perhaps twelve feet deep, and 
from five to eight in width all the way to the bot- 
tom;. The bottom held a layer of earth and dead 
leaves, which served to ease the cub's fall; but 
when he landed the wind was so bumped out of 
him that for a minute or two he could not utter 



158 Ube Douse in tbe Mater 

a sound. As soon as he recovered his voice, how- 
ever, he began to squeal and whine piteously for 
his mother. 

The old bear, at the sound of his cry as he fell, 
had rushed so hastily to his aid that she barely 
escaped falling in after him. Checking herself just 
in time, by digging all her mighty claws into the 
roots of the blueberries, she crouched at the brink, 
thrust her head as far over as she could, and peered 
down with anxious cries. But when the cub's voice 
came back to her from the darkness she knew he 
was not killed, and she also knew that he was very 
near, — and her whinings changed at once to a 
guttural murmur that must have been intended for 
encouragement. The other cub, meanwhile, had 
come lumbering up with ears wisely cocked, taken 
a very hasty and careful glance over the edge, and 
returned to his blueberries with an air of disap- 
proval. It was as if he said he always knew that 
blundering brother of his would get himself into 
trouble. 

For some minutes the old bear crouched where 
she was, straining her eyes to make out the form 
of her little one. Becoming accustomed to the 
gloom at last, she could discern him. She could 



WLbcn the 3Bluebetrtes Ere IRfpe 159 

see that he was moving about, and standing on his 
hind legs, and striving valiantly to claw; his way 
up the perpendicular surface of smooth rock. She 
began to reach downwards first one big forepaw 
and then the other, testing the rock beneath her 
for some ledge or crack that might give her foot- 
hold by which to climb down to his aid. Finding 
none, she again set up her uneasy whining, and 
moved slowly along the brink, trying every inch of 
the way for some place rough enough to give her 
strong claws a chance to take hold. In the full, 
unclouded light of the white moon she was a pa- 
thetic figure, bending and crouching and straining, 
and reaching down longingly, then stopping to 
listen to the complaints of pain and terror that 
came up out of the dark. 

At last she came to the end of the crevice where 
grew the solitary birch tree, — the frightened cap- 
tive following exactly below her and stretching up 
toward her against the rock. At this point, close 
beside the tree, some roots and tough turf over- 
hung the edge, and the old bear's paws detected 
a roughness on the face of the rock just below. 
This was enough for her brave and devoted heart. 
She turned around and let her hind quarters care- 



160 Ube tfjouse in tbe XKHatct 

fully over the brink, intending to climb down back- 
wards as bears do. But beyond the first uneven- 
ness there was absolutely nothing that her claws 
could take hold of. Her great body was half way 
over, when she felt herself on the point of falling. 
Making a sudden startled effort to recover herself, 
she clutched desperately at the trunk of the birch 
tree with one arm, at the roots of the berry-bushes 
with the other, — and just managed to regain the 
level. 

For herself, this mighty effort was just enough. 
But for the birch-tree it was just too much. The 
shallow earth by which it held gave way; and the 
next moment, with a clatter of loosened stones and 
a swish of leafy branches, it crashed majestically 
down into the crevice, closing one end of it with 
a mass of boughs and foliage, and once more 
frightening the imprisoned cub almost out of his 
senses. 

At the first sound of this cataclysm, at the first 
rattle of loose earth about his ears, the cub had 
bounced madly to the other end of the crevice, 
where he crouched, whimpering. The old bear, 
too, was daunted for some seconds; but then, see- 
ing that the cub was not hurt, she was quick to 



TKHben tbe ^Blueberries Ere tRfpe 161 

perceive the advantage of the accident. Standing 
at the upturned roots of the tree, she called eagerly 
and encouragingly to the cub, pointing out the path 
of escape thus offered to him. For some minutes 
he was too terrified to approach. At last she set 
her own weight on the trunk, testing it, and pre- 
pared to climb down and lead him out. At this, 
however, the youngster's nerve revived. With a 
joyful and understanding squeal, he rushed for- 
ward, sprawled and clawed his way over the tangle 
of branches, gained the firm trunk, — and presently 
found himself again beside his mother among the 
pleasant, moonlit berry-bushes. Here he was fon- 
dled and nosed and licked and nursed by the de- 
lighted mother, till his bruised little body forgot 
its hurts and his shaken little heart its fears. His 
cautious brother, too, came up with a wise look 
and sniffed at him patronizingly; but went away 
again with his nose in the air, as if to say that here 
was much fuss being made over a very small mat- 
ter. 




Gbe ©lutton of tbe (Sreat Snow 



ORTHWARD interminably, and beneath 
a whitish, desolate sky, stretched the 
white, empty leagues of snow, unbroken 
by rock or tree or hill, to the straight, menacing 
horizon. Green-black, and splotched with snow 
that clung here and there upon their branches, along 
the southward limits of the barren crowded down 
the serried ranks of the ancient fir forest. End- 
lessly baffled, but endlessly unconquered, the hosts 
of the firs thrust out their grim spire-topped van- 
guards, at intervals, into the hostile vacancy of the 
barren. Between these dark vanguards, long, silent 
aisles of whiteness led back and gently upward into 
the heart of the forest. 

Out across one of these pale corridors of silence 
came moving very deliberately a dark, squat shape 
with blunt muzzle close to the snow. Its keen, fierce 

162 



Ubc Glutton of tbe Great Snow 163 

eyes and keener nostrils were scrutinizing the white 
surface for the scent or trail of some other forest 
wanderer. Conscious of power, in spite of its com- 
paratively small stature — much less than that of 
wolf or lynx, or even of the fox — it made no 
effort to conceal its movements, disguise its track 
or keep watch for possible enemies. Stronger than 
any other beast of thrice its size, as cunning as the 
wisest of the foxes, and of a dogged, savage tem- 
per well known to all the kindred of the wild, it 
seemed to feel secure from ill-considered interfer- 
ence. 

Less than three feet in length, but of peculiarly 
massive build, this dark, ominous-looking animal 
walked flat-footed, like a bear, and with a surly 
heaviness worthy of a bear's stature. Its fur, 
coarse and long, was of a sooty gray-brown, 
streaked coarsely down each flank with a broad 
yellowish splash meeting over the hind quarters. 
Its powerful, heavy-clawed feet were black. Its 
short muzzle and massive jaw, and its broad face 
up to just above the eyes, where the fur came down 
thickly, were black also. The eyes themselves, peer- 
ing out beneath overhanging brows, gleamed with 
a mixture of sullen intelligence and implacable sav- 



164 XTbe Ifoouse in tbe Mater 

agery. In its slow, forbidding strength, and in its 
tameless reserve, which yet held the capacity for 
outbursts of ungovernable rage, this strange beast 
seemed to incarnate the very spirit of the bitter and 
indomitable North. Its name was various, for 
hunters called it sometimes wolverene, sometimes 
carcajou, but oftener " Glutton," or " Injun Devil." 

Through the voiceless desolation the carcajou — 
it was a female — continued her leisurely way. 
Presently, just upon the edge of the forest-growth, 
she came upon the fresh track of a huge lynx. The 
prints of the lynx's great pads were several times 
broader than her own, but she stopped and began 
to examine them without the slightest trace of ap- 
prehension. For some reason best known to her- 
self, she at length made up her mind to pursue the 
stranger's back trail, concerning herself rather with 
what he had been doing than with what he was 
about to do. 

Plunging into the gloom of the firs, where the 
trail led over a snow-covered chaos of boulders and 
tangled windfalls, she came presently to a spot 
where the snow was disturbed and scratched. Her 
eyes sparkled greedily. There were spatters of 
blood about the place, and she realized that here the 



Ube Glutton of tbe Great Snow 165 

lynx had buried, for a future meal, the remnant of 
his kill. 

Her keen nose speedily told her just where the 
treasure was hidden, and she fell to digging furi- 
ously with her short, powerful fore paws. It was 
a bitter and lean season, and the lynx, after eating 
his fill, had taken care to bury the remnant deep. 
The carcajou burrowed down till only the tip of 
her dingy tail was visible before she found the ob- 
ject of her search. It proved to be nothing but one 
hind quarter of a little blue fox. Angrily she 
dragged it forth and bolted it in a twinkling, 
crunching the slim bone between her powerful jaws. 
It was but a morsel to> such a hunger as hers. Lick- 
ing her chops, and passing her black paws hurriedly 
over her face, as a cat does, she forsook the trail 
of the lynx and wandered on deeper into the sound- 
less gloom. Several rabbit-tracks she crossed, and 
here and there the dainty trail of a ptarmigan, or 
the small, sequential dots of a weasel's foot. But 
a single glance or passing twitch of her nostril told 
her these were all old, and she vouchsafed them no 
attention. It was not till she had gone perhaps a 
quarter of a mile through the fir-glooms that she 
came upon a trail which caused her to halt. 



166 Gbc Ibouse in tbe Mater 

It was the one trail, this, among all the tracks 
that traversed the great snow, which could cause 
her a moment's perturbation. For the trail of the 
wolf -pack she had small concern — for the hungri- 
est wolves could never climb a tree. But this was 
the broad snow-shoe trail, which she knew was 
made by a creature even more crafty than herself. 
She glanced about keenly, peering under the trees 
— because one could never judge, merely by the 
direction of the trail, where one of those danger- 
ous creatures was going. She stood almost erect 
on her haunches and sniffed the air for the slightest 
taint of danger. Then she sniffed at the tracks. 
The man-smell was strong upon them, and com- 
paratively, but not dangerously, fresh. Reassured 
on this point, she decided to follow the man and 
find out what he was doing. It was only when she 
did not know what he was about that she so dreaded 
him. Given the opportunity to watch him unseen, 
she was willing enough to pit her cunning against 
his, and to rob him as audaciously as she would 
rob any of the wilderness kindreds. 

Hunting over a wide range as she did, the car- 
cajou was unaware till now that a man had come 
upon her range that winter. To her experience a 



Ube (Blutton of tbe Great Snow 167 

man meant a hunter — and — trapper, with empha- 
sis distinctly upon the trapper. The man's gun she 
feared — but his traps she feared not at all. In- 
deed, she regarded them rather with distinct fa- 
vour, and was ready to profit by them at the first 
opportunity. Having only strength and cunning, 
but no' speed to< rely upon, she had learned that 
traps could catch all kinds of swift creatures, and 
hold them inexorably. She had learned, too, that 
there was usually a succession of traps and snares 
set along a man's trail. It was with some exciting 
expectation, now, that she applied herself to fol- 
lowing this trail. 

Within a short distance the track brought her to 
a patch of trampled snow, with tiny bits of frozen 
fish scattered about. She knew at once that some- 
where in this disturbed area a trap was hidden, close 
to the surface. Stepping warily, in a circle, she 
picked up and devoured the smallest scraps. Near 
the centre lay a fragment of tempting size ; but she 
cunningly guessed that close beside that morsel 
would be the hiding-place of the trap. Slowly she 
closed in upon it, her nose close to the snow, snif- 
fing with cautious discrimination. Suddenly she 
stopped short. Through the snow she had detected 



168 Ube Ifoouse in tbe Mater 

the man-smell, and the smell of steel, mingling with 
the savour of the dried fish. Here, but a little to 
one side, she began to dig, and promptly uncovered 
a light chain. Following this she came presently 
to the trap itself, which she cautiously laid bare. 
Then, without misgiving, she ate the big piece of 
fish. Both her curiosity and her hunger, however, 
were still far from satisfied, so she again took up 
the trail. 

The next trap she came to was an open snare — 
a noose of bright wire suspended near the head of 
a cunningly constructed alley of fir branches, lead- 
ing up to the foot of a big hemlock. Just behind 
this noose, and hardly to be reached save through 
the noose, the bait had evidently been fixed. But 
the carcajou saw that some one little less cunning 
than herself had been before her. Such a snare 
would have caught the fierce, but rather stupid, 
lynx ; but a fox had been the first arrival. She saw 
his tracks. He had carefully investigated the alley 
of fir branches from the outside. Then he had 
broken through it behind the noose, and safely 
made off with the bait. Rather contemptuously the 
old wolverene went on. She did not understand 
this kind of trap, so* she discreetly refrained from 
meddling with it. 



CREPT SLOWLY AROUND THE RAGING AND SNARLING CAPTIVE. 



TTbe (Mutton ot tbe Great Snow m 

Fully a quarter mile she had to go before she 
came to another; but here she found things alto- 
gether different and more interesting. As she came 
softly around a great snow-draped boulder there 
was a snarl, a sharp rattle of steel, and a thud. 
She shrank back swiftly, just beyond reach of the 
claws of a big lynx. The lynx had been ahead of 
her in discovering the trap, and with the stupidity 
of his tribe had got caught in it. The inexorable 
steel jaws had him fast by the left fore leg. He 
had heard the almost soundless approach of the 
strange prowler, and, mad with pain and rage, had 
sprung to the attack without waiting to see the 
nature of his antagonist. 

Keeping just beyond the range of his hampered 
leap, the carcajou now crept slowly around the 
raging and snarling captive, who kept pouncing at 
her in futile fury every other moment. Though 
his superior in sheer strength, she was much smaller 
and lighter than he, and less murderously armed 
for combat; and she dreaded the raking, eviscerat- 
ing clutch of his terrible hinder claws. In defence 
of her burrow and her litter, she would have 
tackled him without hesitation ; but her sharp teeth 
and bulldog jaw, however efficient, would not avail, 



172 Ubc Ifoouse in tfoe Mater 

in such a combat, to save her from getting ripped 
almost to ribbons. She was far too sagacious to 
enter upon any such struggle unnecessarily. Prowl- 
ing slowly and tirelessly, without effort, around 
and around the excited prisoner, she trusted to wear 
him out and then take him at some deadly disad- 
vantage. 

Weighted with the trap, and not wise enough to 
refrain from wasting his strength in vain struggles, 
the lynx was strenuously playing his cunning an- 
tagonist's game, when a sound came floating on the 
still air which made them both instantly rigid. It 
was a long, thin, wavering cry that died off with 
indescribable melancholy in its cadence. The lynx 
crouched, with eyes dilating, and listened with ter- 
rible intentness. The carcajou, equally interested 
but not terrified, stood erect, ears, eyes and nose 
alike directed to finding out more about that omi- 
nous voice. Again and again it was repeated, 
swiftly coming nearer; and presently it resolved 
itself into a chorus of voices. The lynx made sev- 
eral convulsive bounds, wrenching desperately to 
free his imprisoned limb; then, recognizing the 
inevitable, he crouched again, shuddering but dan- 
gerous, his tufted ears flattened upon his back, his 



Ube Glutton ot tbe Great Snow 173 

eyes flickering green, every tooth and claw bared 
for the last battle. But the carcajou merely stiff- 
ened up her fur, in a rage at the prospective inter- 
ruption of her hunting. She knew well that the 
dreadful, melancholy cry was the voice of the wolf- 
pack. But the wolves were not on her trail, that 
she was sure of; and possibly they might pass at 
a harmless distance, and not discover her or her 
quarry. 

The listeners were not kept long in suspense. 
The pack, as it chanced, was on the trail of a moose 
which, labouring heavily in the deep snow, had 
passed, at a distance of some thirty or forty yards, 
a few minutes before the carcajou's arrival. The 
wolves swept into view through the tall fir trunks 
— five in number, and running so close that a 
table-cloth might have covered them. They knew 
by the trail that the quarry must be near, and, 
urged on by the fierce thrust of their hunger, they 
were not looking to right or left. They were al- 
most past, and the lynx was beginning to take heart 
again, when, out of the tail of his eye, the pack- 
leader detected something unusual on the snow near 
the foot of the big rock. One fair look explained 
it all to him. With an exultant yelp he turned, and 



174 Ubc Ibouse in tbe Water 

the pack swept down upon the prisoner; while the 
carcajou, bursting with indignation, slipped up the 
nearest tree. 

The captive was not abject, but game to the last 
tough fibre. All fangs and rending claws, with a 
screech and a bound he met the onslaught of the 
pack; and, for all the hideous handicap of that 
thing of iron on his leg, he gave a good account of 
himself. For a minute or two the wolves and their 
victim formed one yelling, yelping heap. When it 
disentangled itself, three of the wolves were badly 
torn, and one had the whole side of his face laid 
open. But in a few minutes there was nothing left 
of the unfortunate lynx but a few of the heavier 
bones — to which the pack might return later — 
and the scrap of fur and flesh that was held in the 
jaws of the trap. 

As the carcajou saw her prospective meal disap- 
pearing, her rage became almost uncontrollable, 
and she crept down the tree-trunk as if she would 
fling herself upon the pack. The leader sprang at 
her, leaping as high as he could against the trunk; 
and she, barely out of reach of his clashing, bloody 
fangs, snapped back at him with a vicious growl, 
trying to catch the tip of his nose. Failing in this, 




SNAPPED BACK AT HIM WITH A VICIOUS GROWL. 



Ube Glutton of tbe Great Snow 177 

she struck at him like lightning with her powerful 
claws, raking his muzzle so severely that he fell 
back with a startled yelp. A moment later the 
whole pack, their famine still unsatisfied, swept off 
again upon the trail of the moose. The carcajou 
came down, sniffed angrily at the clean bones which 
had been cracked for their marrow, then hurried 
off on the track of the wolves. 



ii 

Meanwhile, it had chanced that the man on snow- 
shoes, fetching a wide circle that would bring the 
end of his line of traps back nearly to his cabin, 
had come suddenly face to face with the fleeing 
moose. Worn out with the terror of his flight and 
the heart-breaking effort of floundering through the 
heavy snow — which was, nevertheless, hard 
enough, on the surface, to bear up his light-footed 
pursuers — the great beast was near his last gasp. 
At sight of the man before him, more to be dreaded 
even than the savage foe behind him, he snorted 
wildly and plunged off to one side. But the man, 
borne up upon his snow-shoes, overtook him in a 
moment, and, suddenly stooping forward, drew his 



178 Ubc Ibouse in tbe Mater 

long hunting-knife across the gasping throat. The 
snow about grew crimson instantly, and the huge 
beast sank with a shudder. 

The trapper knew that a moose so driven must 
have had enemies on its trail, and he knew also that 
no enemies but wolves, or another hunter, could 
have driven the moose to such a flight. There was 
no other hunter ranging within twenty miles of 
him. Therefore, it was wolves. He had no 
weapon with him but his knife and his light axe, 
because his rifle was apt to be a useless burden in 
winter, when he had always traps or pelts to carry. 
And it was rash for one man, without his gun, to 
rob a wolf-pack of its kill ! But the trapper wanted 
fresh moose-meat. Hastily and skilfully he began 
to cut from the carcass the choicest portions of 
haunch and loin. He had no more than fairly got 
to work when the far-off cry of the pack sounded 
on his expectant ears. He laboured furiously as the 
voices drew nearer. The interruption of the lynx 
he understood, in a measure, by the noises that 
reached him; but when the pack came hot on the 
trail again he knew it was time to get away. He 
must retreat promptly, but not be seen retreating. 
Bearing with him such cuts as he had been able 



XTbe Glutton of tbe Great Snow 179 

to secure, he made off in the direction of his cabin. 
But at a distance of about two hundred yards he 
stepped into a thicket at the base of a huge hem- 
lock, and turned to see what the wolves would do 
when they found they had been forestalled. As he 
turned, the wolves appeared, and swept down upon 
the body of the moose. But within a couple of 
paces of it they stopped short, with a snarl of sus- 
picion, and drew back hastily. The tracks and the 
scent of their arch-enemy, man, were all about the 
carcass. His handiwork — his clean cutting — was 
evident upon it. Their first impulse was toward 
caution. Suspecting a trap, they circled warily 
about the body. Then, reassured, their rage blazed 
up. Their own quarry had been killed before them, 
their own hunting insolently crossed. However, it 
was man, the ever-insolent overlord, who had done 
it. He had taken toll as he would, and withdrawn 
when he would. They did not quite dare to follow 
and seek vengeance. So in a few moments their 
wrath had simmered down; and they fell savagely 
upon the yet warm feast. 

The trapper watched them from his hiding-place, 
not wishing to risk attracting their attention before 
they had quite gorged themselves. He knew there 



180 xibe Douse in tbe Mater 

would be plenty of good meat left, even then ; and 
that they would at length proceed to bury it for 
future use. Then he could dig it up again, take 
what remained clean and unmauled, and leave the 
rest to its lawful owners; and all without unneces- 
sary trouble. 

As he watched the banqueting pack, he was sud- 
denly conscious of a movement in the branches of 
a fir a little beyond them. Then his quick eye, 
keener in discrimination than that of any wolf, 
detected the sturdy figure of a large wolverene ma- 
king its way from tree to tree at a safe distance 
above the snow, intent upon the wolves. What one 
carcajou — "Glutton," he called it — could hope, 
for all its cunning, to accomplish against five big 
timber-wolves, he could not imagine. Hating the 
" Glutton," as all trappers do, he wished most ear- 
nestly that it might slip on its branch and fall down 
before the fangs of the pack. 

There was no smallest danger of the wary car- 
cajou doing anything of the sort. Every faculty 
was on the alert to avenge herself on the wolves 
who had robbed her of her destined prey. Most 
of the other creatures of the wild she despised, but 
the wolves she also hated, because she felt herself 



Ube Glutton of tbe Great Snow isi 

constrained to yield them way. She crawled care- 
fully from tree to tree, till at last she gained one 
whose lower branches spread directly over the car- 
cass of the moose. Creeping out upon one of those 
branches, she glared down maliciously upon her 
foes. Observing her, two of the wolves desisted 
long enough from their feasting to leap up at her 
with fiercely gnashing teeth. But finding her out 
of reach, and scornfully unmoved by their futile 
demonstrations, they gave it up and fell again to 
their ravenous feasting. 

The wolverene is a big cousin to the weasel, and 
also to the skunk. The ferocity of the weasel it 
shares, and the weasel's dauntless courage. Its kin- 
ship to the skunk is attested by the possession of 
a gland which secretes an oil of peculiarly potent 
malodour. The smell of this oil is not so over- 
powering, so pungently strangulating, as that 
emitted by the skunk; but all the wild creatures 
find it irresistibly disgusting. No matter how 
pinched and racked by famine they may be, not 
one of them will touch a morsel of meat which a 
wolverene has defiled ever so slightly. The wol- 
verene itself, however, by no means shares this 
general prejudice. 



182 Ubc Ibouse in tbe TKKater 

When the carcajou had glared down upon the 
wolves for several minutes, she ejected the contents 
of her oil-gland all over the body of the moose, 
impartially treating her foes to a portion of the 
nauseating fluid. With coughing, and sneezing, 
and furious yelping, the wolves bounded away, and 
began rolling and burrowing in the snow. They 
could not rid themselves at once of the dreadful 
odour; but, presently recovering their self-posses- 
sion, and resolutely ignoring the polluted meat, 
they ranged themselves in a circle around the tree 
at a safe distance, and snapped their long jaws 
venge fully at their adversary. They seemed pre- 
pared to stay there indefinitely, in the hope of starv- 
ing out the carcajou and tearing her to pieces. 
Perceiving this, the carcajou turned her back upon 
them, climbed farther up the tree to a comfortable 
crotch, and settled herself indifferently for a nap. 
For all her voracious appetite, she knew she could 
go hungry longer than any wolf, and quite wear 
out the pack in a waiting game. Then the trapper, 
indignant at seeing so much good meat spoiled, 
but his sporting instincts stirred to sympathy by 
the triumph of one beast like the carcajou over a 
whole wolf -pack, turned his back upon the scene 



XLbc (Blutton ot tbe Great Snow 183 

and resumed his tramp. The wolves had lost pres- 
tige in his eyes, and he now felt ready to fight them 
all with his single axe. 



in 

From that day on the wolf -pack cherished a 
sleepless grudge against the carcajou, and w r asted 
precious hours, from time to time, striving to catch 
her off her guard. The wolf's memory is a long 
one, and the feud lost nothing in its bitterness as 
the winter weeks, loud with storm or still with 
deadly cold, dragged by. For a time the crafty old 
carcajou fed fat on the flesh which none but she 
could touch, while all the other beasts but the bear, 
safe asleep in his den, and the porcupine, browsing 
contentedly on hemlock and spruce, went lean with 
famine. During this period, since she had all that 
even her great appetite could dispose of, the car- 
cajou robbed neither the hunter's traps nor the 
scant stores of the other animals. But at last her 
larder was bare. Then, turning her attention to 
the traps again, she speedily drew upon her the 
trapper's wrath, and found herself obliged to keep 
watch against two foes at once, and they the most 



184 TTbe Douse in tbe TKHater 

powerful in the wilderness — namely, the man and 
the wolf-pack. Even the magnitude of this feud, 
however, did not daunt her greedy but fearless 
spirit, and she continued to rob the traps, elude the 
wolves, and evade the hunter's craftiest efforts, till 
the approach of spring not only eased the famine 
of the forest but put an end to the man's trapping. 
When the furs of the wild kindred began to lose 
their gloss and vitality, the trapper loaded his pelts 
upon a big hand-sledge, sealed up his cabin se- 
curely, and set out for the settlements before the 
snow should all be gone. Once assured of his ab- 
sence, the carcajou devoted all her strength and 
cunning to making her way into the closed cabin. 
At last, after infinite patience and endeavour, she 
managed to get in, through the roof. There were 
supplies — flour, and bacon, and dried apples, all 
very much to her distinctly catholic taste — and 
she enjoyed herself immensely till private duties 
summoned her reluctantly away. 

Spring comes late to the great snows, but when 
it does come it is swift and not to be denied. Then 
summer, with much to do and little time to do it in, 
rushes ardently down upon the plains and the fir- 
forests. About three miles back from the cabin, 



Ubc Glutton ot tbe Great Snow 185 

on a dry knoll in the heart of a tangled swamp, the 
old wolverene dug herself a commodious and secret 
burrow. Here she gave birth to a litter of tiny 
young ones, much like herself in miniature, only of 
a paler colour and softer, silkier fur. In her ar- 
dent, unflagging devotion to these little ones she 
undertook no hunting that would take her far from 
home, but satisfied her appetite with mice, slugs, 
worms and beetles. 

Living in such seclusion as she did, her enemies 
the wolves lost all track of her for the time. The 
pack had broken up, as a formal organization, ac- 
cording to the custom of wolf -packs in summer. 
But there was still more or less cohesion, of a sort, 
between its scattered members; and the leader and 
his mate had a cave not many miles from the wol- 
verene's retreat. 

As luck would have it, the gray old leader, re- 
turning to the cave one day with the body of a rab- 
bit between his gaunt jaws, took a short cut across 
the swamp, and came upon the trail of his long- 
lost enemy. In fact, he came upon several of her 
trails ; and he understood very well what it meant. 
He had no time, or inclination, to stop and look 
into the matter then ; but his sagacious eyes gleamed 
with vengeful intention as he continued his journey. 



186 Ube Douse in tbe Matet 

About this time — the time being a little past 
midsummer — the man came back to his cabin, 
bringing supplies. It was a long journey between 
the cabin and the settlements, and he had to make 
it several times during the brief summer, in order 
to accumulate stores enough to last through the 
long, merciless season of the great snows. When 
he reached the cabin and found that, in spite of all 
his precautions, the greedy carcajou had outwitted 
him and broken in, and pillaged his stores, his in- 
dignation knew no bounds. 

The carcajou had become an enemy more dan- 
gerous to him than all the other beasts of the wild 
together. She must be hunted down and destroyed 
before he could go on with his business of laying 
in stores for the winter. 

For several days the man prowled in ever-widen- 
ing circles around his cabin, seeking to pick up his 
enemy's fresh trail. At last, late one afternoon, he 
found it, on the outskirts of the swamp. It was 
too late to follow it up then. But the next day he 
set out betimes with rifle, axe and spade, vowed to 
the extermination of the whole carcajou family, 
for he knew, as well as the old wolf did, why the 
carcajou had taken up her quarters in the swamp. 



XLbc Glutton of tbe Great Snow 187 

It chanced that this very morning was the morn- 
ing when the wolves had undertaken to settle their 
ancient grudge. The old leader — his mate being 
occupied with her cubs — had managed to get hold 
of two other members of the pack, with memories 
as long as his. The unravelling of the trails in the 
swamp was an easy task for their keen noses. 
They found the burrow on the dry, warm knoll, 
prowled stealthily all about it for a few minutes, 
then set themselves to digging it open. When the 
man, whose wary, moccasined feet went noiselessly 
as a fox's, came in eyeshot of the knoll, the sight 
he caught through the dark jumble of tree-trunks 
brought him to a stop. He slunk behind a screen 
of branches and peered forth with eager interest. 
What he saw was three big, gray wolves, starting 
to dig furiously. He knew they were digging at 
the carcajou's burrow. 

When the wolves fell to digging their noses told 
them that there were young carcajous in the bur- 
row, but they could not be sure whether the old one 
was at home or not. On this point, however, they 
were presently informed. As the dry earth flew 
from beneath their furious claws, a dark, blunt 
snout shot forth, to be as swiftly withdrawn. Its 



188 TTbe Douse in tbe mater 

appearance was followed by a yelp of pain, and 
one of the younger wolves drew back, walking on 
three legs. One fore paw had been bitten clean 
through, and he lay down whining, to lick and 
cherish it. That paw, at least, would do no more 
digging for some time. 

The man, in his hiding-place behind the screen, 
saw what had happened, and felt a twinge of sym- 
pathetic admiration for his enemy, the savage little 
fighter in the burrow. The remaining two wolves 
now grew more cautious, keeping back from the 
entrance as well as they could, and undermining 
its edges. Again and again the dark muzzle shot 
forth, but the wolves always sprang away in time 
to escape punishment. This went on till the wolves 
had made such an excavation that the man thought 
they must be nearing the bottom of the den. He 
waited breathlessly for the denouement, which he 
knew would be exciting. 

He had not long to wait. 

On a sudden, as if jerked from a catapult, the 
old carcajou sprang clear out, snatching at the 
muzzle of the nearest wolf. He dodged, but not 
quite far enough ; and she caught him fairly in the 
side of the throat, just behind the jaw. It was a 



Ubc Glutton of tbe Great Snow 189 

deadly grip, and the wolf rose on his hind legs, 
struggling frantically to shake her off. But with 
her great strength and powerful, clutching claws, 
which she used almost as a bear might, she pulled 
him down on top of her, striving to use his bulk 
as a shield against the fangs of the other wolf ; and 
the two rolled over and over to the foot of the 
knoll. 

It was the second young wolf, unfortunately for 
her, that she had fastened upon, or the victory, 
even against such odds, might have been hers. 
But the old leader was wary. He saw that his 
comrade was done for; so he stood watchful, bi- 
ding his chance to get just the grip he wanted. 
At length, as he saw the younger wolf's struggles 
growing feebler, he darted in and slashed the car- 
cajou frightfully across the loins. But this was 
not the hold that he wanted. As she dropped her 
victim and turned upon him valiantly, he caught 
her high up on the back, and held her fast between 
his bone-crushing jaws. It was a final and fatal 
grip; but she was not beaten until she was dead. 
With her fierce eyes already glazing she writhed 
about and succeeded in fixing her death-grip upon 
the victor's lean fore leg. With the last ounce of 



190 zrfoe ibouse in tbe TKHater 

her strength, the last impulses of her courage and 
her hate, she clinched her jaws till her teeth met 
through flesh, sinew and the cracking bone itself. 
Then her lifeless body went limp, and with a swing 
of his massive neck the old wolf flung her from 
him. 

Having satisfied himself that she was quite dead, 
the old wolf now slunk off on three legs into the 
swamp, holding his maimed and bleeding limb as 
high as he could. Then the man stepped out from 
his hiding-place and came forward. The wolf who 
had been first bitten got up and limped away with 
surprising agility; but the one in whose throat the 
old carcajou had fixed her teeth lay motionless 
where he had fallen, a couple of paces from his 
dead slayer. Wolf -pelts were no good at this sea- 
son, so the man thrust the body carelessly aside 
with his foot. But he stood for a minute or two 
looking down with whimsical respect on the dead 
form of the carcajou. 

" Y' ain't nawthin' but a thief an' stinkin' Glut- 
ton," he muttered presently, " an' the whole kit an' 
bilin' of ye's got to be wiped out! But, when it 
comes to grit, clean through, I takes off my cap 
to ye!" 



Mbcn tbe Gruce of tbe TPUUIo is Done 






Y day it was still high summer in the 
woods, with slumbrous heat at noon, and 
the murmur of insects under the thick 
foliage. But to the initiated sense there was a dif- 
ference. A tang in the forest scents told the nos- 
trils that autumn had arrived. A crispness in the 
feel of the air, elusive but persistent, hinted of ap- 
proaching frost. The still warmth was haunted, 
every now and then, by a passing ghost of chill. 
Here and there the pale green of the birches was 
thinly webbed with gold. Here and there a maple 
hung out amid its rich verdure a branch prema- 
turely turned, glowing like a banner of aerial rose. 
Along the edges of the little wild meadows which 
bordered the loitering brooks the first thin blooms 
of the asters began to show, like a veil of blown 
smoke. In open patches, on the hillsides the golden- 
rod burned orange and the fireweed spread its 

191 



192 Uhc t)Ouse fn tfoe TlGlatet 

washes of violet pink. Somewhere in the top of a 
tall poplar, crowning the summit of a glaring white 
bluff, a locust twanged incessantly its strident 
string. Mysteriously, imperceptibly, without sound 
and without warning, the change had come. 

Hardly longer ago than yesterday, the wild crea- 
tures had been unwary and confident, showing 
themselves everywhere. The partridge coveys had 
whirred up noisily in full view of the passing 
woodsman, and craned their necks to watch him 
from the near-by branches. On every shallow mere 
and tranquil river-reach the flocks of wild ducks had 
fed boldly, suffering canoe or punt to come within 
easy gunshot. In the heavy grass of the wild mead- 
ows, or among the long, washing sedges of the lake- 
side, the red deer had pastured openly in the broad 
daylight, with tramplings and splashings, and had 
lifted large bright eyes of unterrified curiosity if 
a boat or canoe happened by. The security of that 
great truce, which men called " close season " had 
rested sweetly on the forest. 

Then suddenly, when the sunrise was pink on the 
mists, a gunshot had sent the echoes clamouring 
across the still lake waters, and a flock of ducks, 
flapping up and fleeing with frightened cries, had 



WLbcn tbe ttruce of tbe timilfc fls Bone 193 

left one of its members sprawling motionless among 
the flattened sedge, a heap of bright feathers spat- 
tered with blood. Later in the morning a rifle had 
cracked sharply on the hillside, and a little puff of 
white smoke had blown across the dark front of the 
fir groves. The truce had come to an end. 

All summer long men had kept the truce with 
strictness, and the hunter's fierce instinct, curbed 
alike by law and foresight, had slumbered. But 
now the young coveys were full-fledged and strong 
of wing, well able to care for themselves. The 
young ducks were full grown, and no longer needed 
their mother's guardianship and teaching. The 
young deer were learning to shift for themselves, 
and finding, to their wonder and indignation, that 
their mothers grew day by day more indifferent to 
them, more inclined to wander off in search of new 
interests. The time had come when the young of 
the wilderness stood no longer in need of protection. 
Then the hand of the law was lifted. 

Instantly in the hearts of men the hunter's fever 
flamed up, and, with eager eyes, they went forth 
to kill. Where they had yesterday walked openly, 
hardly heeding the wild creatures about them, they 
now crept stealthily, following the trails, or lying 



194 XTbe Ibouse in tbe Mater 

in ambush, waiting for the unsuspicious flock to 
wing past. And when they found that the game, 
yesterday so abundant and unwatchful, had to-day 
almost wholly disappeared, they were indignant, 
and wished that they had anticipated the season by 
a few hours. 

As a matter of fact, the time of the ending of the 
truce was not the same for all the wild creatures 
which had profited by its protection through the 
spring and summer. Certain of the tribes, accord- 
ing to the law's provisions, were secure for some 
weeks longer yet. But this they never seemed to 
realize. As far as they could observe, when the 
truce was broken for one it was broken for all, and 
all took alarm together. In some unexplained way, 
perhaps by the mere transmission of a general fear, 
word went around that the time had come for invis- 
ibility and craft. All at once, therefore, as it 
seemed to men, the wilderness had become empty. 

Down a green, rough wood-road, leading from 
the Settlement to one of the wild meadows by the 
river, came a young man in homespun carrying a 
long, old-fashioned, muzzle-loading duck-gun. Two 
days before this he had seen a fine buck, with ant- 
lers perfect and new-shining from the velvet, feed- 



XKHben tbe Uruce of tbe TKHilfc 1Fs 2>one 195 

ing on the edge of this meadow. The young woods- 
man had his gun loaded with buckshot. He wanted 
both venison and a pair of horns; and, knowing 
the fancy of the deer for certain favourite pastures, 
he had great hopes of finding the buck somewhere 
about the place where he had last seen him. With 
flexible " larrigans " of oiled cowhide on his feet, 
the hunter moved noiselessly and swiftly as a pan- 
ther, his keen pale-blue eyes peering from side to 
side through the shadowy undergrowth. Not three 
steps aside from the path, moveless as a stone and 
invisible among the spotted weeds and twigs, a 
crafty old cock-partridge stood with head erect and 
unwinking eyes and watched the dangerous in- 
truder stride by. 

Approaching the edge of the open, the young 
hunter kept himself carefully hidden behind the 
fringing leafage and looked forth upon the little 
meadow. No creature being in sight, he cut 
straight across the grass to the water's edge, and 
scanned the muddy margin for foot-prints. These 
he presently found in abundance, along between 
grass and sedge. Most of the marks were old ; but 
others were so fresh that he knew the buck must 
have been there and departed within the last ten 



196 uhc Ibouse in tbe TKHater 

minutes. Into' some deep hoof -prints the water was 
still oozing, while from others the trodden stems of 
sedge were slowly struggling upright. 

A smile of keen satisfaction passed over the 
young woodsman's face at these signs. He prided 
himself on his skill in trailing, and the primeval 
predatory elation thrilled his nerves. At a swift 
but easy lope he took up that clear trail, and fol- 
lowed it back through the grass toward the woods. 
It entered the woods not ten paces from the point 
where the hunter himself had emerged, ran parallel 
with the old wood-road for a dozen yards, and came 
to a plain halt in the heart of a dense thicket of 
hemlock. From the thicket it went off in great 
leaps in a direction at right angles to the path. 
There was not a breath of wind stirring, to carry a 
scent. So the hunter realized that his intended vic- 
tim had been watching him from the thicket, and 
that it was now a case of craft against craft. He 
tightened his belt for a long chase, and set his lean 
jaws doggedly as he resumed the trail. 

The buck, who was wise with the wisdom of ex- 
perience, and apprised by the echoes of the first 
gunshot of the fact that the truce was over, had 
indeed been watching the hunter very sagaciously. 



mbcn tbe Uruce of tbe TKMR> 1Fs Wonc 197 

The moment he was satisfied that it was his trail 
the hunter was following, he had set out at top 
speed, anxious to get as far as possible from so 
dangerous a neighbourhood. At first his fear grew 
with his flight, so that his great, soft eyes stared 
wildly and his nostrils dilated as he went bounding 
over all obstacles. Then little by little the triumph- 
ant exercise of his powers, and a realization of how 
far his speed surpassed that of his pursuer, reas- 
sured him somewhat. He decided to rest, and find 
out what his foe was doing. He doubled back par- 
allel with his own trail for about fifty yards, then 
lay down in a thicket to watch the enemy go by. 

In an incredibly short time he did go by, at that 
long, steady swing which ate up the distance so 
amazingly. As soon as he was well past, the buck 
sprang up and was off again at full speed, his heart 
once more thumping with terror. 

This time, however, instead of running straight 
ahead, he made a wide, sweeping curve, tending 
back toward the river and the lakes. As before, 
only somewhat sooner, his alarm subsided and his 
confidence, along with his curiosity, returned. He 
repeated his former manoeuvre of doubling back 
a little way upon his trail, then again lay down to 
wait for the passing of his foe. 



198 XTbe Douse in tbe Mater 

When the hunter came to that first abrupt turn 
of the trail he realized that it was a cunning and 
experienced buck with which he had to deal. He 
smiled confidently, however, feeling sure of his own 
skill, and ran at full speed to the point where the 
animal had lain down to watch him pass. From 
this point he followed the trail just far enough to 
catch its curve. Then he left it and ran in a straight 
line shrewdly calculated to form the chord to his 
quarry's section of a circle. His plan was to inter- 
cept and pick up the trail again about three quarters 
of a mile further on. In nine cases out of ten his 
calculation would have worked out as he wished; 
but in this case he had not made allowance for this 
particular buck's individuality. While he imagined 
his quarry to be yet far ahead, he ran past a leafy 
clump of mingled Indian pear and thick spruce 
seedlings. Half a minute later he heard a crash of 
underbrush behind him. As he turned he caught 
a tantalizing glimpse of tawny haunches vanishing 
through the green, and he knew that once again 
he had been outplayed. 

This time the wise buck was distinctly more ter- 
rified than before. The appearance of his enemy at 
this unexpected point, so speedily, and not upon the 




RUNNING IN THE SHALLOW WATER TO COVER HIS SCENT.' 



iMbcn tbe Uruce of tbe 101115 ITs Bone 201 

trail, struck a panic to his heart. Plainly, this was 
no common foe, to be evaded by familiar strata- 
gems. His curiosity and his confidence disappeared 
completely. 

The buck set off in a straight line for the river, 
now perhaps a half-mile distant. Reaching it, he 
turned down the shore, running in the shallow 
water to cover his scent. It never occurred to him 
that his enemy was trailing him by sight, not by 
scent; so he followed the same tactics he would 
have employed had the pursuer been a wolf or a 
dog. A hundred yards further on he rounded a 
sharp bend of the stream. Here he took to deep 
water, swam swiftly to the opposite shore, and van- 
ished into the thick woods. 

Two or three minutes later the man came out 
upon the river's edge. The direction his quarry had 
taken was plainly visible by the splashes of water on 
the rocks, and he smiled grimly at the precaution 
which the animal had taken to cover his secret. 
But when he reached the point where the buck had 
taken to> deep water the smile faded. He stopped, 
leaning on his gun and staring across the river, 
and a baffled look came over his face. Realizing, 
after a few moments, that he was beaten in this 



202 Ube Bouse in tbe Water 

game, he drew out his charge of buckshot, reloaded 
his gun with small duckshot, and hid himself in a 
waterside covert of young willows, in the hope that 
a flock of mallard or teal might presently come by. 




Zhc Minfcow in tbe ©back 

[ HE attitude in which the plump baby 
hung limply over the woman's left arm 
looked most uncomfortable. The baby, 
however, seemed highly content. Both his sticky 
fists clutched firmly a generous " chunk " of new 
maple-sugar, which he mumbled with his toothless 
gums, while his big eyes, widening like an owl's, 
stared about through the dusk with a placid in- 
tentness. 

From the woman's left hand dangled an old tin 
lantern containing a scrap of tallow candle, whose 
meagre gleam flickered hither and thither appre- 
hensively among the huge shadows of the darken- 
ing wood. In her right hand the woman carried 
a large tin bucket, half filled with fresh-run maple- 
sap. By the glimmer of the ineffectual candle, she 
moved wearily from one great maple to another, 
emptying the birch-bark cups that hung from the 

203 



204 xrbe ifoouse In tbe Mater 

little wooden taps driven into the trunks. The 
night air was raw with the chill of thawing snow, 
and carried no sound but the soft tinkle of the sap 
as it dript swiftly into the birchen cups. The 
faint, sweet smell of the sap seemed to cling upon 
the darkness. The candle flared up for an instant, 
revealing black, mysterious aisles among the pon- 
derous tree-trunks, then guttered down and almost 
went out, the darkness seeming to swoop in upon 
its defeat. The woman examined it, found that 
it was all but done, and glanced nervously over her 
shoulder. Then she made anxious haste to empty 
and replace the last of the birchen cups before she 
should be left in darkness to grope her way back 
to the cabin. 

The sap was running freely that spring, and the 
promise of a great sugar-harvest was not to be ig- 
nored. Dave Stone's house and farm lay about 
three miles distant, across the valley of the " Tin 
Kittle," from the maple-clad ridge of forest wherein 
he had his sugar-camp. The camp consisted of a 
little cabin or " shack " of rough boards and an 
open shed with a rude but spacious fireplace and 
chimney to accommodate the great iron pot in 
which the sap was boiled down into sugar. While 



Uhc TKMnfcow in tbe Sbacfe 205 

the sap was running freely, the pot had to be kept 
boiling uniformly and the thickening sap kept 
skimmed clean of the creaming scum; and there- 
fore, during the season, some one had to be always 
living in the camp. 

Dave Stone had built his camp at an opening 
in the woods, in such a position that, from its own 
little window in the rear, he could look out across 
the wide valley of the " Tin Kittle " to a rigid 
grove of firs behind which, shielded from the 
nor'easters, lay his low frame house, and red- 
doored barn, and wide, liberal sheds. The dis- 
tance was only about three miles, or less, from 
the house to the sugar-camp. But Dave Stone was 
terribly proud of the prosperous little homestead 
which he had carved for himself out of the un- 
broken wilderness on the upper " Tin Kittle," and 
more than proud of the slim, gray-eyed wife and 
three sturdy youngsters to whom that homestead 
gave happy shelter. On the spring nights when 
he had to stay over at the camp, he liked to be 
able to see the grove that hid his home. 

It chanced one afternoon, just in the height of 
the sap-running, that Dave Stone was called sud- 
denly in to the settlement on a piece of business 



206 Ube Ibouse in tbe Mater 

that could not wait overnight. A note which he 
had endorsed for a friend had been allowed to go 
to protest, and Dave was excited. 

"Ther' ain't nothin' fer it, Mandy," said he, 
" but fer ye to take the baby an' go right over to 
the camp fer the night, an' keep an eye on this 
bilin\" 

" But, father," protested his wife, in a doubtful 
voice, " how kin I leave Lidy an' Joe here alone? " 

" Oh, there ain't nothin' goin' to bother them, 
an' Lidy 'most ten year old ! " insisted Dave, who 
was in a hurry. " Don't fret, mother. I'll be back 
long afore mornin' ! " 

As the children had no objection to being left, 
Mrs. Stone suffered herself to be persuaded. In 
fact, she went to her new duty with a certain zest, 
as a break in the monotony of her days. She had 
lent a hand often enough at the sugar-making to 
be familiar with the task awaiting her, and it was 
with an unwonted gaiety that she set out on what 
appeared to her almost in the light of a little 
adventure. 

But it was later than she had intended when she 
actually got away, the baby crowing joyously on 
her arm, and the children calling gay good-byes to 



XTbe Winfcow in tbe Sbacfc 207 

her from the open door. Jake, the big brown re- 
triever, tried to follow her; and when she ordered 
him back to stay with the children, he obeyed with 
a whimpering reluctance that came near rebellion. 
As she descended the valley, her feet sinking in the 
snow of the thawing trail, she wondered why the 
dog, which had always preferred the children, 
should have grown so anxious to be with her. 

When she reached the camp, she was already 
tired, but the pleasant excitement was still upon 
her. When she had skimmed the big, slow-bubbling 
pot of syrup, tested a ladleful of it in the snow, 
poured in some fresh sap, and replenished the slug- 
gish fire, dusk was already stealing upon the forest. 
In her haste she did not notice that the candle in 
the old lantern was almost burned out. Snatching 
up the lantern, which it was not yet necessary to 
light, and the big tin sap-bucket, and giving the 
baby, who had begun to fret, a lump of hard sugar 
to keep him. quiet on her arm, she hurried off to 
tend the farthest trees before the darkness should 
close down upon the silences. 

When the last birch cup had been emptied into 
the bucket, the candle flickered out; and for a 



208 XTbe t>ouse in tbc Timatet 

moment or two the sudden blackness seemed to 
flap in her face, daunting her. She stood perfectly 
still till her eyes readjusted themselves. She was 
dead tired, the baby and the brimming bucket were 
heavy, and the adventurous flavour had quite gone 
out of her task. 

In part because of her fatigue, she grew sud- 
denly timorous. Her ears began to listen with 
terrible intentness till they imagined stealthy foot- 
steps in the silken shrinkings of the damp snow. 
At last her eyes mastered the gloom till she could 
make out the glimmering pathway, the dim, black 
trunks shouldering up on either side of it, the 
clumps of bushes obstructing it here and there. 
Trembling — clutching tightly at the baby, the lan- 
tern, and the sap-bucket — she started back with 
furtive but hurried footsteps, afraid to make any 
noise lest she attract the notice of some mysterious 
powers of the wilderness. 

As the woman went, her fears grew with her 
haste till only the difficulties of the path, with the 
weight of her burdens, prevented her from breaking 
into a run of panic. The baby, meanwhile, kept 
on sucking his maple-sugar and staring into the 
novel darkness. The woman's breath began to 



XTbe XKMn&ow in tbe Sbacft 209 

come too fast, her knees began to feel as if they 
might turn to water at any moment. At last, when 
within perhaps fifty paces of the shack, to her in- 
finite relief she saw a dark, tall figure take shape 
just over the top of a bush, at the turn of the trail. 
She had room for but one thought. It was Dave, 
back earlier than he had expected. She did not stop 
to wonder how or why. With a little, breathless 
cry, she exclaimed : " Oh, Dave, I'm so glad ! Take 
the baby ! " and reached forward to place the little 
one in his arms. 

Even as she did so, however, something in the 
tall, dim shape rising over the bush struck her as 
unfamiliar. And why didn't Dave speak? She 
paused, she half drew 7 back, while a chill fear made 
her cheeks prickle; and as she slightly changed her 
position, the dark form grew more definite. She 
saw the massive bulk of the shoulders. She caught 
a glint of white teeth, of fierce, wild eyes. 

With a screech of intolerable horror, she shrank 
back, clutching the baby to her bosom, swung the 
brimming bucket of sap full into the monster's face, 
and fled with the speed of a deer down another 
trail toward the shack. She was at the door before 
her appalled brain realized that the being to which 



210 xrbe Ibouse in tbe Mater 

she had tried to hand over the child was a huge 
bear. 

Bewildered and abashed for a few seconds by 
the deluge of liquid and the clatter of the tin vessel 
in his face, the animal had not instantly pursued. 
But he was just out of the den after his long winter 
sleep and savage with hunger. Moreover, he had 
been allowed to realize that the dreaded man- 
creature which he had met so unexpectedly was 
afraid of him ! He came crashing over the bushes, 
and was so close at the woman's heels that she had 
barely time to slam the shack door in his face. 

As she dropped the rude wooden latch into place, 
the woman realized with horror how frail the door 
was. Momentarily she expected to see it smashed 
in by a stroke of the monster's paw. She did not 
know a bear's caution, his cunning suspicion of 
traps, his dread of the scent of man. 

There was no 1 light in the shack, except a faint 
red gleam from the open draft of the stove, and 
the gray pallor of the night sky glimmering in 
through the little window. The woman was so 
faint with fear that she dared not search for the 
candles, but leaned panting against the wall and 
staring at the window as if she expected the bear 




SNIFFED LOUDLY ALONG THE CRACK OF THE DOOR. 



Ube MtnDow In tbe Sbacfe 213 

to look in at her. She was brought to her senses 
in a moment, however, by the baby beginning to 
cry. In the race for the shack, he had lost his 
lump of sugar, and now he realized how uncom- 
fortable he was. The woman seated herself on 
the bench by the stove and began to nurse him, all 
the time keeping her eyes on the pale square of the 
window. 

When the door was slammed in his face, the bear 
had backed away in apprehension and paused to 
study the shack. But at the sound of the baby's 
voice he seemed to realize that here, at least, were 
some individuals of the dreaded man tribe who 
were not dangerous. He came forward and sniffed 
loudly along the crack of the door till the woman's 
heart stood still. He leaned against it, tentatively, 
till it creaked, but the latch and hinges held. Then 
he prowled around the shack, examining it care- 
fully, and doubtless expecting to find an open en- 
trance somewhere. In his experience, all caves and 
dens had entrances. At last the window caught 
his attention. The woman heard the scratching 
of his claws on the rough outer boarding as he 
raised himself. Then the window was darkened 
by a great black head looking in. 



214 ubc 1foou0c in tbe Mater 

Throwing the baby into the bunk, the woman 
snatched from the stove a blazing stick, rushed to 
the window with it, and made a wild thrust at the 
dreadful face. With a crash the glass flew to splin- 
ters, and the black face disappeared. The bear was 
untouched, but the fiery weapon had taught him 
discretion. He drew back with an angry growl, 
and sat down on his haunches as if to see what 
the woman would do next. She, for her part, after 
this victory, grew terribly afraid of setting the dry 
shack on fire; so she hurriedly returned the snap- 
ping, sparkling brand to the stove. Thereupon the 
bear resumed his ominous prowling, round and 
round the shack, sometimes testing the foundations 
and the door with massive but stealthy paw, some- 
times sniffing loudly at the cracks; and the woman 
returned to the comforting of the baby. 

In time the little one, fed full and cherished, went 
to sleep. Then, with nothing left to occupy her 
mind but the terrors of her situation, the woman 
found those stealthy scratchings and sniffings, and 
the strain of the silences that fell between, were 
more than she could endure. At first, she thought 
of getting a couple of blazing sticks, throwing open 
the shack door, and deliberately attacking her be- 




MADE A WILD THRUST AT THE DREADFUL FACE.' 



XTbe mtnfcow in tbe Sbacfe 217 

sieger. But this idea she dismissed as quite too 
desperate and futile. Then she remembered that 
bears were fond of sweets. A table in the corner 
was heaped with great, round cakes of fragrant 
sugar, the shape of the pans in which they had 
been cooled. One of these she snatched up, and 
threw it out of the window. The bear promptly 
came around to see what had dropped, and fell 
upon the offering with such ardour that it vanished 
between his great jaws in half a minute. Then 
he came straight to the window for more, and the 
woman served it out to him without delay. 

The beast's appetite for maple-sugar was ama- 
zing, and as the woman saw the sweet store swiftly 
disappearing, her fear began to be tempered with 
indignation. But when her outraged frugality led 
her to delay the dole, her tormentor came at the 
window so savagely that she made all haste to sup- 
ply him, and fell to wondering helplessly what she 
should do when the sugar was all gone. 

As she stood at the window, watching fearfully 
the vague, monstrous shape of the animal as he 
pawed and gnawed at the last cake, suddenly, far 
across the shadowy valley, a red light leaped into 
the sky. For a moment the woman stared at it 



218 Ubc Ibouse in tbe Mater 

with an absent mind, absorbed in her own trouble, 
yet noticing how black and sharp, like giant spears 
upthrust in array, the tops of the firs stood out 
against the glow. For a moment she stood so 
staring. Then she realized where that wild light 
came from. With a cry she turned, rushed to the 
door, and tore it open. But as the dark of the 
forest confronted her, she remembered! Slamming 
and latching the door again, she rushed madly back 
to> the window, and stood there clutching the frame 
with both hands, praying, and sobbing, and raving. 

And the bear, having finished the sugar, sat up 
on his haunches to gaze intently, ears cocked and 
jaws half open, at that far-off, fiery brightness in 
the sky of night. 

As the keen tongues of flame shot over the tree- 
tops, the woman clutched at her senses, and tried 
to persuade herself that it was the barn, not the 
house, that was burning. It was, in truth, quite 
impossible to discern, at that distance, which it 
was. It was not both; of that she was certain. 
She also told herself that, if it was the house, it 
was too early for the children to be asleep; and 
even if they were asleep, Jake would wake them; 
and presently some neighbours, who were not more 



XTbe XKIUnfcow in tbe Sbacfe 219 

than a mile away, would come to comfort their 
fears and shelter them. She would not allow herself 
to harbour the awful thought that the fire might 
have caught the children in their sleep. Neverthe- 
less, do what she could to fight it away, the hideous 
suggestion kept clamouring at her brain, driving 
her to a frenzy. Had she been alone in this crisis, 
the great beast watching and prowling outside the 
shack would have had no terrors for her. But the 
baby! She could not run fast with that burden. 
She could not leave him behind in the bunk, for 
the bear would either climb in the window or batter 
in the door when she was gone. Yet to stand idle 
and watch those leaping flames — that way lay 
madness. Again her mind reverted to the blazing 
brand with which she had driven the bear from the 
window. If she took one big enough and carried 
it with her, the bear would probably not dare even 
to follow her. She sprang eagerly to the stove, but 
the fire was already dying down. It was nothing 
but a heap of coals, and in her stress she had not 
noticed how cold it had grown in the shack. She 
looked for wood, but there was none. She had for- 
gotten to bring in an armful from the pile over by 
the sugar-boiler. Well, the plan had been an insane 



220 Ube Ibouse in tbe TKttater 

one, hopeless from the first. But, at least, it had 
been a plan. The failure of it seemed to leave her 
tortured brain a blank. But the cold — that was 
an impression that pierced her despair. She went 
to the bunk, and covered the sleeping baby with 
warm blankets. As she leaned over him, she heard 
the bear again, sniffing, sniffing along the crack at 
the bottom of the door. She almost laughed — 
that the beast should want anything more after all 
that sugar! Then she felt herself sinking, and 
clutched at the edge of the bunk to save herself. 
She would lie down by the baby! But instead of 
that she sank upon the floor in a huddled heap. 

Her swoon must have passed imperceptibly into 
the heavy sleep of emotional exhaustion, for she 
lay unstirring for some hours. The crying of the 
little one awoke her. 

Stiff, half frozen, utterly dazed, she pulled her- 
self up to the bunk, nursed the child, and soothed 
him again to sleep. Then the accumulation of 
anguish which had overwhelmed her rolled back 
upon her understanding. She staggered to the 
window. 

The dreadful illumination across the valley had 
died down to a faint ruddiness, just seen through 



Zbc minnow In tbe Sbacfe 221 

the thin tops of the firs. The fire — whether it had 
been the barn or the house — had burned itself out. 
Whatever had happened, it was over. As she stood 
shuddering, unable to think, not daring to think, 
her eyes rested upon the bear, huge and formless 
in the gloom, staring at her, not ten' feet away. 
She answered the stare fixedly, no longer aware of 
fearing him. Then she saw him turn his head sud- 
denly, as if he had heard something. And the next 
moment he had faded away swiftly and noiselessly 
into the darkness, like a startled partridge. She 
heard quick footsteps coming up the trail. A dog's 
fierce growl broke into a bark of warning. That 
was Jake's bark! She almost threw herself at the 
door, and tore it open. 

Dave Stone had got back from the settlement 
earlier than he expected, driving furiously the last 
two miles of his journey, with his eyes full of the 
red light of that burning, his heart gripped with 
intolerable fear. He had found his good barn in 
flames, but the children safe, the house untouched, 
the stock rescued. The children, prompt and re- 
sourceful as the children of the backwoods have 
need to be, had loosed the cattle from the stanchions 



222 Ube *>ouse in tbe Mater 

and got them out in time. Neighbours, hurrying up 
in response to the flaming summons, had found the 
children watching the blaze enthusiastically from 
the doorstep, as if it had been arranged for their 
amusement. Seeing matters so much better than 
they might have been, Dave was struck with a new 
apprehension, because Mandy had not returned. It 
was hardly conceivable that she had failed to see 
the flames from the window of the shack! Then 
why had she not come ? Followed by Jake, he had 
taken the camp trail at a run to find out what was 
the matter. 

As he drew near the shack, the darkness of it 
chilled him with dread. No firelight gleam showed 
out from the window! And no red glow came 
from the boiling-shed! The fire had been allowed 
to die out under the sugar-pot ! As the significance 
of this dawned upon him, his keen woodsman's 
eyes seemed to detect through the dark a shape of 
thicker blackness gliding past the shack and into 
the woods. At the same moment Jake growled, 
barked shortly, and dashed past him, with the hair 
bristling along his neck. 

The man's blood went to ice, as he sprang to the 
door of the shack, crying in a terrible voice: 



Gbe Timtnfcow in tbe Sbacfe 223 

"Mandy! Mandy! Where are — " But before 
the question was out of his mouth, the door leaped 
open, and Mandy was on his neck, shaking and 
sobbing. 

" The children?" she gasped. 

" Why, they're all right, mother ! " replied the 
man cheerfully. " It was only the barn — an' they 
got the critters out all safe! But what's wrong 
here? An' what's kep' you? An' didn't you — " 

But he was not allowed to finish his questionings, 
for the woman was crying and laughing and stran- 
gling him with her wild clasp. " Oh, Dave! " she 
managed to exclaim. " It was the bear — as tried 
to git us — all night long! An' he's et up every 
crum of the last bilin'." 




ZX)c IReturn of tbe flDoose 

O the best of my knowledge, ther' ain't 
been no moose seen this side the river 
these eighteen year back." 

The speaker, a heavy-shouldered, long-legged 
backwoodsman, paused in his task of digging pota- 
toes, leaned on the handle of his broad-tined dig- 
ging fork, and bit off a liberal chew from his plug 
of black tobacco. His companion, digging parallel 
with him on the next row, paused sympathetically, 
felt in his trousers' pocket for his own plug of 
" black jack," and cast a contemplative eye up the 
wide brown slope of the potato-field toward the 
ragged and desolate line of burnt woods which 
crested the hill. 

The woods, a long array of erect, black, fire- 
scarred rampikes, appeared to scrawl the very sig- 
nificance of solitude against the lonely afternoon 
sky. The austerity of the scene was merely height- 
ened by the yellow glow of a birch thicket at the 

224 



Ubc IReturn of tbe /iDoose 225 

further upper corner of the potato-field, and by the 
faint tints of violet light that flowed over the brown 
soil from a pallid and fading sunset. As the sky 
was scrawled by the gray-and-black rampikes, so 
the slope was scrawled by zigzag lines of gray-and- 
black snake fence, leading down to three log cabins, 
with their cluster of log barns and sheds, scattered 
irregularly along a terrace of the slope. A quarter 
of a mile further down, beyond the little gray 
dwellings, a sluggish river wound between alder 
swamps and rough wild meadows. 

As the second potato-digger was lifting his plug 
of tobacco to his mouth, his hand stopped half way, 
and his grizzled jaw dropped in astonishment. For 
a couple of seconds he stared at the ragged hill- 
crest. Then, it being contrary to his code to show 
surprise, he bit off his chew, returned the tobacco 
to his pocket, and coolly remarked : " Well, I 
reckon they've come back." 

" What do you mean ? " demanded the first 
speaker, who had resumed his digging. 

" There be your moose, after these eighteen 
year ! " said the other. 

Standing out clear of the dead forest, and star- 
ing curiously down upon the two potato-diggers, 



226 Ube Douse in tfoe TKHater 

were three moose, — a magnificent, black, wide- 
antlered bull, an ungainly brown cow, and a long- 
legged, long-eared calf. A potato-field, with men 
digging in it, was something far apart from their 
experience and manifestly filled them with interest. 

" Keep still now, Sandy," muttered the first 
speaker, who was wise in the ways of the wood- 
folk. " Keep still till they git used to us. Then 
we'll go for our guns." 

The men stood motionless for a couple of min- 
utes, and the moose came further into the open in 
order to get a better look at them. Then, leaving 
their potato forks standing in their furrows, the 
men strode quietly down the field, down the rocky 
pasture lane, and into the nearest house. Here the 
man called Sandy got down his gun, — an old 
muzzle-loading, single-barrelled musket, — and hur- 
riedly loaded it with buckshot; while the other, 
who was somewhat the more experienced hunter, 
ran on to the next cabin and got his big Snider 
rifle. The moose, meanwhile, having watched the 
men fairly indoors, turned aside and fell to brows- 
ing on the tiny poplar saplings which grew along 
the top of the field. 

Saying nothing to their people in the houses, 




A MAGNIFICENT, BLACK, WIDE-ANTLERED BULL, AN UNGAINLY 
BROWN COW, AND A LONG-LEGGED, LONG-EARED CALF." 



XTbe IReturn of tbe flDoose 229 

after the reticent backwoods fashion, Sandy and 
Lije strolled carelessly down the road till the 
potato-field was hidden rom sight by a stretch of 
young second-growth sp uce and fir. Up through 
this cover they ran e? 'erly, bending low, and 
gained the forest of raiXjjikes on top of the hill. 
Here they circled widely, crouching in the coarse 
weeds and dodging from trunk to trunk, until they 
knew they were directly behind the potato-field. 
Then they crept noiselessly outward toward the 
spot where they had last seen the moose. The 
wind was blowing softly into their faces, covering 
their scent; and their dull gray homespun clothes 
fitted the colour of the desolation around them. 

Now it chanced that the big bull had changed 
his mind, and wandered back among the rampikes, 
leaving the cow and calf at their browsing among 
the poplars. The woodsmen, therefore, came upon 
him unexpectedly. Not thirty yards distant, he 
stood eying them with disdainful curiosity, his 
splendid antlers laid back while he thrust forward 
his big, sensitive nose, trying to get the wind of 
these mysterious strangers. There was menace in 
his small, watchful eyes, and altogether his appear- 
ance was so formidable that the hunters were just 



230 XTbe 1&ouse in tbe Mater 

a trifle flurried, and fired too hastily. The big 
bullet of Lije's Snider went wide, while a couple 
of Sandy's buckshot did no more than furrow the 
great beast's shoulder. The sudden pain and the 
sudden monstrous noise filled him with rage, and, 
with an ugly grunting roar, he charged. 

"Up a tree, Sandy!" yelled Lije, setting the 
example. But the bull was so close at his heels 
that he could not carry his rifle with him. He 
dropped it at the foot of the tree, and swung him- 
self up into the dead branches just in time to escape 
the animal's rearing plunge. 

Sandy, meanwhile, had found himself in serious 
plight, there being no suitable refuge just at hand. 
Those trees which were big enough had had no 
branches spared by the fire. He had to run some 
distance. Just as he was hesitating as to what he 
should do, and looking for a rock or stump behind 
which he might hide while he reloaded his gun, the 
moose caught sight of him, forgot about Lije, and 
came charging through the weeds. Sandy had no 
more time for hesitation. He dropped his un- 
wieldy musket, and clambered into a blackened 
and branchy hackmatack, so small that he feared 
the rush of the bull might break it down. It did, 



XTbe IReturn of tbe /IDoose 231 

indeed, crack ominously when the headlong bulk 
reared upon it; but it stood. And Sandy felt as 
if every branch he grasped were an eggshell. 

Seeing that the bull's attention was so well occu- 
pied, Lije slipped down the further side of his tree 
and recaptured his Snider. He had by this time 
entirely recovered his nerve, and now felt master 
of the situation. Having slipped in a new cartridge 
he stood forth boldly and waited for the moose to 
offer him a fair target. As the animal moved this 
way and that, he at length presented his flank. The 
big Snider roared; and he dropped with a ball 
through his heart, dead instantly. Sandy came 
down from his little tree, and touched the huge 
dark form and mighty antlers with admiring awe. 

In the meantime, the noise of the firing had 
thrown the cow and calf into a panic. Since the 
woods behind them were suddenly filled with such 
thunders, they could not flee in that direction. But 
far below them, down the brown slopes and past 
the gray cabins, they saw the river gleaming among 
its alder thickets. There was the shelter they 
craved; and down the fields they ran, with long, 
shambling, awkward strides that took them over 
the ground at a tremendous pace. At the foot of 



232 Zhc Ibouse in tfoe TKDiater 

the field they blundered into the lane leading down 
to Sandy's cabin. 

Now, as luck would have it, Sandy had that 
summer decided to build himself a frame house 
to supplant the old log cabin. As a preliminary, 
he had dug a spacious cellar, just at the foot of 
the lane. It was deep as well as wide, being in- 
tended for the storage of many potatoes. And, in 
order to prevent any of the cattle from falling into 
it, he had surrounded it with a low fence which 
chanced to be screened along the upper side with 
a rank growth of burdock and other barnyard 
weeds. 

When the moose cow reached this fence, she 
hardly noticed it. She was used to striding over 
obstacles. Just now her heart was mad with panic, 
and her eyes full of the gleam of the river she 
was seeking. She cleared the fence without an 
effort — and went crashing to the bottom of the 
cellar. Not three paces behind her came the calf. 

By this time, of course, all the little settlement 
was out, and the flight of the cow and calf down 
the field had been followed with eager eyes. Every- 
one ran at once to the cellar. The unfortunate cow 
was seen to have injured herself so terribly by the 



Ube IReturn of tbe ZlDoose 233 

plunge that, without waiting for the owner of the 
cellar to return, the young farmer from the third 
cabin jumped down and ended her suffering with 
a butcher knife. The calf, however, was unhurt. 
He stood staring stupidly at his dead mother and 
showed no fear of the people that came up to stroke 
and admire him. He seemed so absolutely docile 
that when Sandy and Lije came proudly down the 
hill to tell of their achievement, Sandy declared 
that the youngster should be kept and made a 
pet of. 

" Seems to me," he said to Lije, " that seein' as 
the moose had been so long away, we hain't treated 
them jest right when they come back. I feel like 
we 'd ought to make it up to the little feller." 




3from tbe Zeetb of tbe fttoe 

ITHERTO, ever since he had been old 
enough to leave the den, the mother bear 
had been leading her fat black cub in- 
land, among the tumbled rocks and tangled spruce 
and pine, teaching him to dig for tender roots and 
nose out grubs and beetles from the rotting stumps. 
To-day, feeling the need of saltier fare, she led him 
in the opposite direction, down through a cleft in 
the cliffs, and out across the great, red, glistening 
mud-flats left bare by the ebb of the terrific Fundy 
tides. 

From the secure warmth of his den the cub had 
heard, faint and far off, the waves thundering along 
the bases of the cliffs, when the tide was high and 
the great winds drew heavily in from sea. The 
sound had always made him afraid; and to-day, 
though there was no wind, and the tide was so 
far out that it made no noise but a soft whisper, 
silken and persuasive, he held back with babyish 

234 



ffrom tbe XTeetb of tbe TLibc 235 

timidity, till his mother brought him to his senses 
with an unceremonious curl on the side of the 
head. With a squall of grieved surprise he picked 
himself up, shaking his head as if he had a bee in 
his ear, and then made haste to follow obediently, 
close at his mother's huge black heels. 

From the break in the cliffs, where the bears 
came down, ran a ledge of shelving rocks on a 
long, gradual slant across the flats toward the edge 
of low water. The tide was nearing the last of the 
ebb; and now, the slope of the shore being very 
gradual, and the difference between high and low 
water in these turbulent channels something be- 
tween forty and fifty feet, the lapsing fringes of 
the ebb, yellow-tawny with silt, were a good three- 
quarters of a mile away from the foot of the cliffs. 
The vast spaces between were smooth, oily, copper- 
red mud, shining and treacherous in the sun with 
the narrow black outcrop of the ledge drawn across 
on so gentle a slant that before it reached the water 
it was running almost on a parallel with the shore- 
line. 

Along the rocky ledge the old bear led the way, 
pausing to nose at a patch of seaweed here and 
there or to glance shrewdly into the shallow pools 



236 Zbc Ifoouse in tbe Mater 

among the rocks. The cub obediently followed her 
example, though doubtless with no idea of what 
he might hope to find. But the upper stretches of 
the ledge, near high-water mark, offered nothing 
to reward their quest, having been dry for sev- 
eral hours, and long ago thoroughly gone over 
by earlier foragers. So the bears pushed on down 
toward the lower stretches, where the ledges were 
still wet, and the long, black-green weed-masses 
still dripping, and where the limpet-covered pro- 
tuberances of rock still oozed and sparkled. With 
her iron-hard claws the mother bear scraped off 
a quantity of these limpets, and crushed them be- 
tween her jaws with relish, swallowing the salty 
juices. The cub tried clumsily to imitate her, but 
the limpets defied his too tender claws, so he ran 
to his mother, thrust her great head aside, and 
greedily licked up a share of her scrapings. The 
sea flavour tickled his palate, but the rough, hard 
shells exasperated him. They hurt his gums, so 
that he merely rolled them over in his mouth, 
sucked at them a few moments, then spat them 
out indignantly. His mother thereupon forsook 
the unsatisfactory limpets, and went prowling on 
toward the water's edge in search of more satis- 



Ifrom tbe Ucctb of tbe Utbc 237 

fying fare. As they left the limpets, a gaunt figure 
in gray homespuns, carrying a rifle, appeared on 
the crest of the cliffs above, caught sight of them, 
and hurriedly took cover behind an overhanging 
pine. 

The young woodsman's first impulse was to try 
a long shot at the hulking black shape so conspicu- 
ous out on the ledge, against the bright water. He 
wanted a bearskin, even if the fur was not just 
then in prime condition. But more particularly 
he wanted the cub, to tame and play with if it 
should prove amenable, and to sell, ultimately, for 
a good amount, to some travelling show. On con- 
sideration, he decided to lie in wait among the rocks 
till the rising tide should drive the bears back to 
the upland. He exchanged his steel-nosed car- 
tridges for the more deadly mushroom-tipped, filled 
his pipe, and lay back comfortably against the pine 
trunk, to watch, through the thin green frondage, 
the foraging of his intended prey. 

The farther they went down the long slant of 
the ledge, the more interested the bears became. 
Here the crows and gulls had not had time to cap- 
ture all the prizes. There were savoury blue-shelled 
mussels clinging under the tips of the rocks ; plump, 



238 Ube Ifoouse in tbe Mater 

spiral whelks between the oozy tresses of the sea- 
weed; orange starfish and bristly sea-urchins in the 
shallow pools. All these dainties had shells that 
the cub's young* teeth could easily crush, and they 
yielded meaty morsels that made beetles and grubs 
seem very meagre fare. Moreover, in the salty 
bitter of this sea-fruit there was something mar- 
velously stimulating to the appetite. From pool 
to pool the old bear wandered on, lured ever by 
richer prizes just ahead; and the cub, stuffed till 
his little stomach was like a black furry ball, no 
longer frisked and tumbled, but waddled along be- 
side her with eyes of shining expectancy. As long 
as he was not too full to walk, he was not too full 
to eat such delicacies as these. The fascinating 
quest led them on and on till at last they found 
themselves at the water's edge. 

By this time they had travelled a long way from 
the cleft in the cliff's by which they had come down 
from the uplands. A good half-mile of shining 
mud separated them, in a direct line, from the cliff 
base. And the woodsman on the height, as he 
watched them, muttered to himself : " Ef that old 
b'ar don't look out, the tide's a-goin' to ketch her 
afore she knows what she's about! Most wish I'd 



from tbe Ucctb of tbe Utfce 239 

'a' socked it to her afore she'd got so fur out — 
Jiminy! She's seed her mistake now! The tide's 
turned." 

While bear and cub had their noses and paws 
busy in a little dry pool, on a sudden a long, shal- 
low, muddy-crested wave had come hissing up over 
their feet and filled the pool to the brim with its 
yellow flood. Lifting her head sharply, the old 
bear glanced at the far-off cliffs, and at the mount- 
ing tide. Instantly realizing the peril, she started 
back at a slow, lumbering amble up the long, long 
path by which they had come; and the cub started 
too at a brave gallop — not behind her, for he was 
too much afraid of the hissing yellow wave, but 
close at her side, between her sheltering form and 
the shore. He felt that she could in some way 
ward off or subdue the cold and terrifying monster. 

For perhaps two minutes the cub struggled on 
gamely, although, owing to the fact that at this 
point their path was almost parallel with the water, 
the fugitives made no perceptible gain, and the ris- 
ing wave was on their heels every instant. Then 
the greedy feeding produced its effect. The little 
fellow's wind gave out completely. With a whim- 
per of pain and fright he dropped back upon his 
haunches and waited for his mother to save him. 



240 Ube Ifoouse in tbe XDdater 

The old bear turned, bounced back, and cuffed 
him so bruskly that he found breath enough to 
utter a loud squall and go stumbling forward for 
another score of yards. Then he gave out, and 
sank upon his too-distended stomach, whimpering 
piteously. 

This time the mother seemed to perceive that 
his case was serious, and her anxious wrath sub- 
sided. She licked him assiduously for a few sec- 
onds, whining encouragement, till at last he got 
upon his feet again, trembling. The yellow flood 
was now lapping on the ledge all about them. 
But a rod or two farther on the rocks bulged up 
a couple of feet above the surrounding slope. 
Thrusting the exhausted youngster ahead of her 
with nose and paws, the old bear gained this 
point of temporary vantage; and then, worried and 
frightened, sat down upon her haunches and stared 
all around her, as if trying to decide what should 
be done. The cub lay flat, with legs outstretched 
and mouth wide open, panting. 

The tide, meanwhile, was mounting so swiftly 
that in a few moments the rise of rocks had be- 
come almost an island. The ledge was covered 
before them as well as behind, and the only way 



ffrom tbe Ueetb of tbe Ut&e 241 

still open lay straight over the glistening mud. 
The old bear looked at it, and whined, knowing 
its treacheries. And the woodsman, watching with 
eager interest from the cliffs, muttered: 

" Take to it, ye old bug-eater ! Ther' ain't naw- 
thin' else left fer ye to do!" 

This was apparently the conclusion of the old 
bear herself; for now, after licking and nuzzling 
the cub for a few seconds till he stood up, she 
stepped boldly off the rock and started out over 
the coppery flats. The cub, having apparently 
recovered his wind, followed briskly — probably 
much heartened by the fact that his progress was 
in a direction away from the alarming waves. 

There was desperate need of haste, for when 
they left the rocky lift the tide was already slip- 
ping around upon the flats beyond it. Neverthe- 
less, the old bear moved with deliberation. She 
could not hurry the cub; and she had to choose 
her path. By some instinct, or else by some peculiar 
keenness of observation, she seemed to detect the 
" honey-pots," or deep pockets of slime, that lay 
concealed beneath the uniformly shining surface 
of the mud; for here she would make an aimless 
detour, losing many precious seconds, and there 



242 Ubc Douse in tbc TKHater 

she would side-step suddenly, for several paces, and 
shift her course to a new parallel. Outside the 
" honey-pots," the mud was soft and tenacious to 
a depth varying from a few inches to a couple of 
feet, but with a hard clay foundation beneath the 
slime. Through this clinging red ooze the old 
bear, with her huge strength, made her way with- 
out difficulty; but the cub, in a few moments, be- 
gan to find himself terribly hampered. His fur 
collected the mud. His little paws sank easily, 
but at each step it grew harder to withdraw them 1 . 
At last, chancing to stagger aside from his mother's 
spacious tracks, he sank to his belly in the rim of a 
" honey-pot." 

Panic-stricken, he floundered vainly, his nose 
high in the air and his eyes shut tight, while his 
mother, unconscious of what had happened, 
ploughed doggedly onward. Presently he opened 
his eyes. His mother was now perhaps ten or a 
dozen feet ahead, apparently deserting him. Right 
behind, lapping up to his very tail, was the crawl- 
ing wave. A heart-broken bawl burst from his 
throat. 

At that cry the old bear came dashing back, red 
mud half-way up her flanks and plastered all over 



jfrom tbe Ueetb ot tbe Ufoe 243 

her shaggy chest. Taking in the situation at a 
glance, she seized the cub by the nape of the neck 
with her teeth, and tried to drag him free. But 
he squealed so lamentably that she realized that 
the hide would yield before the mud would. The 
attempt had taken time, however; and the tide was 
now well up in the fur of his back. Thrusting her 
paw down beneath his haunches, she tore him clear 
with a mighty wrench and a loud sucking of the 
baffled mud. That stroke sent him head over heels 
some ten feet nearer safety. By the time he had 
picked himself up, pawing fretfully at the mud that 
bedaubed his face and half blinded him, his mother 
was close behind him 1 , nosing him along and lift- 
ing him forward skilfully with her fore paws. 

The slope of the flats was now so gradual as to 
be almost imperceptible; and the tide, therefore, 
seemed to be racing in with fiercer haste, as if in 
wrath at being so long balked of its prey. En- 
grossed in her efforts to push the cub forward, 
the mother now lost some of her fine discrimination 
in regard to " honey-pots." She pushed the cub 
straight into one; but jerked him back unceremo- 
niously before the mud had time to get any grip 
upon him. Pausing for a moment to scrutinize 



244 Ube Douse in tfoe TKHater 

the oozy expanse, she thrust the little animal furi- 
ously along to the left, searching for a safe pas- 
sage. Before she could find one, however, the tide 
was upon them,, their feet splashing in the thin 
yellow wavelets. 

A broken soap-box, tossed overboard from some 
ship, came washing up, and stranded just before 
them. With a whimper of delight, as if he thought 
the box a safe refuge, the cub scrambled upon it; 
but his mother ruthlessly tumbled him off and hus- 
tled him onward, floundering and splashing. 

"Ye'll hev to swim fer it, Old Woman!" 
growled the now excited watcher behind the pine- 
tree on the cliff. 

As the creeping flood by this time overspread 
the ooze for a couple of yards ahead of them, the 
mother could no longer discriminate as to what 
lay beneath it. She could do nothing now but dash 
ahead blindly. Catching up the cub between her 
jaws, in a grip that made him squeal, she launched 
herself straight toward shore, hardly daring to let 
her feet rest an instant where they touched. For- 
tune favoured her in this rush. She got ahead of 
the tide. She gained upon it, perhaps twice her 
body's length. Then she paused, to drop the cub. 



from tbe TLccth ot tbe XTtfce 245 

But the pause was fatal. She began to sink in- 
stantly. She had come upon a " honey-pot " of 
stiffer consistency than the rest, which had sus- 
tained her while she was in swift motion, but now, 
in return for that support, clutched her in a grip 
the more inexorable. With all her huge strength 
she strained to wrench herself clear. But in vain. 
She had no purchase. There was nothing to put 
forth her strength upon. In her terror and de- 
spair she squealed aloud, with her snout high in 
air as if appealing to the blank, blue, empty sky. 
The cub, terror-stricken, strove to clamber upon 
her back. 

That harsh cry of hers, however, was but the 
outburst of one moment's weakness. The next 
moment the indomitable old bear was striving 
silently and systematically to release herself. She 
would wrench one great fore arm clear, lift it high, 
and feel about for a solid foundation beneath the 
ooze. Failing in this, she would yield that paw to 
the enemy again, tear the other loose, and feel 
about for a foothold in another direction. At the 
same time she drew out her body to its full length, 
and lay flat, so that she might gain as much sup- 
port as possible by distributing her weight. Be- 



246 Ube Douse in tbe Water 

cause of this sagacity, and because the mire at this 
point had more substance than in most of the other 
" honey-pots/' she made a good fight, and almost, 
but not quite, held her own. By the time the tide 
had once more overtaken her she had sunk but a 
little way, and was still far from giving up the 
unequal struggle. 

Yet for all the great beast's strength, and valour, 
and devotion, there could have been but one end 
to that brave battle, and mother and cub would 
have disappeared, in a few minutes more, under 
the stealthy, whispering onrush of the flood, had 
not the whimsical Providence — or Hazard — of 
the Wild come curiously to their aid. Among the 
jetsam of those restless Fundy tides almost any- 
thing that will float may appear, from a match- 
box to a barn. What appeared just now was a big 
spruce log, escaped from the boom on some river 
emptying into the bay. It came softly wallowing in, 
lipped by the little waves, and passed close by the 
nose of the old bear, where she struggled with the 
water up to her shoulders. 

Quick as thought she flashed up a heavy paw, 
caught the log by one end, and pulled the butt under 
her chest. The purchase thus gained enabled her 



Jfrom tbe Ueetb of tbe ftfoe 249 

to free the other paw — and in a few seconds more 
the weight of the fore part of her body was on the 
end of the log, forcing it down to the mud. Greedy 
as that mud was, it was yet incapable of engulfing 
a full-grown spruce timber quickly enough to de- 
feat the bear's purpose. Stretching far forward 
on the submerged log, she strained her muscles to 
their utmost, and slowly drew her hind quarters 
free from the deadly grip that held them. Then, 
seizing in her jaws the cub, which was swimming 
and whimpering beside her, she carefully felt her 
way farther along the log, and sat down upon it 
to rest, clutching the youngster closely in one great 
fore arm. 

Not till the tide had risen nearly to her neck did 
the mother move again. She was recovering her 
strength. Utterly daunted by the peril of the 
" honey-pots/' she chose rather to trust the tide 
itself. At last, catching the cub again by the back 
of the neck, she swam for the shore. The tide was 
now within a couple of hundred yards from the 
bases of the cliffs, and lapping upon solid, sun- 
baked clay. The strong flood helping her, she 
swam fast, though laboriously by reason of the 
burden in her teeth. Soon her hinder feet struck 



250 Ube Bouse in tbe XlXHater 

ground — but she was afraid to trust it, and nerv- 
ously drew them up beneath her. A few moments 
more and she felt undeniably firm footing; where- 
upon she plunged forward with a rush, and never 
paused, even to drop the squirming cub, till she 
was above high-water mark. 

When, at last, she set the little beast down, she 
was in such a hurry to get away from the shore 
and back into the secure green woods that she 
would not trust him to follow her, as usual, but 
drove him on ahead, as fast as he could move, 
toward the cleft in the cliffs. As they turned up 
the rugged trail her haste relaxed, and she went 
more slowly, but still driving the cub ahead of her, 
that she might be quite sure that the " honey-pots " 
would not reach up and clutch at him again. 

As the muddy, weary, bedraggled, pathetic-look- 
ing pair passed within tempting range of the pine- 
tree on the cliff-top, the woodsman instinctively 
threw forward his rifle. But the next moment he 
dropped it, with a slight flush, and gave a quick 
glance around him as if he feared that unseen eyes 
might have taken note of the gesture. 

"Hell!" he muttered, "I'd V been no better'n 
a murderer, 'f I'd V gone an' plugged the Old 
Girl now! " 




Gbe jfigbt at tbe iKMlow 

I 

AR to the northeast of Ringwaak Hill, 
just beyond that deep, far-rimmed lake 
which begets the torrent of the Otta- 
noonsis, rise the bluff twin summits of Old Wal- 
quitch, presiding over an unbroken and almost 
untrodden wilderness. Some way up the south- 
easterly flank of the loftier and more butting 
of the twin peaks ran a vast, open shelf, or terrace, 
a kind of barren, whose swampy but austere soil 
bore no growth but wiry bush. The green tips 
of this bushy growth were a favoured " browse " 
of the caribou, who, though no lovers of the 
heights, would often wander up from their shaggy 
and austere plains in quest of this aromatic forage. 
But this lofty mountainside barren had yet another 
attraction for the caribou. Close at its edge, just 
where a granite buttress fell away steeply toward 
the lake, a tiny, almost imperceptible spring, stained 

251 



252 zbc t>ouse in tbe Mater 

with iron and pungent with salt, trickled out from 
among the roots of a dense, low thicket. Past the 
bare spot made by these oozings, and round behind 
the thicket, led a dim trail, worn by the feet of 
caribou 1 , moose, bear, deer, and other stealthy way- 
farers. And to this spring, when the moon of the 
falling leaves brought in the season of love and 
war, the caribou bulls were wont to come, delight- 
ing to form their wallow in the pungent, salty mud. 

The bald twin peaks of Old Walquitch were 
ghostly white in the flood of the full moon, just 
risen, and swimming like a globe of witch's fire 
over the far, dark, wooded horizon. But the bushy 
shelf and the spring by the thicket, were still in 
shadow. Along the trail to the spring, moving 
noiselessly, yet with a confident dignity, came a 
paler shadow, the shape of a huge, gray-white 
caribou bull with wide-spreading antlers. 

At the edge of the spring the bull stopped and 
began sniffing the sharp-scented mud. Apparently 
he found no sign of a rival having passed that way 
before him, or of a cow having kept tryst there. 
Lifting his splendid head he stared all about him 
in the shadow, and up at the bare, illuminated 
fronts of the twin peaks. 



/ 




HE BELLED HARSHLY SEVERAL TIMES ACROSS THE DARK WASTES. 



Ube jHsbt at tbc Mallow 255 

As the light spread down the mountain to the 
edge of the shelf, and the moon rose into his view, 
he " belled " harshly several times across the dark 
wastes outspread below him. 

Receiving no answer to his defiance, the great 
bull turned his attention again to the ooze around 
the spring. After sniffing it all over he fell to 
furrowing it excitedly with the two lowermost 
branches of his antlers, — short, broad, palmated 
projections thrust out low over his forehead, and 
called by woodsmen " the ploughs." Every few 
seconds he would toss his head fiercely, like an 
ordinary bull, and throw the ooze over his shoul- 
ders. Then he pawed the cool, strong-smelling 
stuff to what he seemed to consider a fitting con- 
sistency, sniffed it over again, and raised his head 
to " bell " a fresh challenge across the spacious 
solitudes. Receiving no answer, he snorted in dis- 
gust, flung himself down on the trampled ooze, and 
began to wallow with a sort of slow and intense 
vehemence, grunting massively from time to time 
with volcanic emotion. 

The wallow was now in the full flood of the 
moonlight. In that mysterious illumination the 
caribou, encased in shining ooze, took on the gro- 



256 Ube Douse in tbe Mater 

tesque and enormous aspect of some monster of 
the prediluvian slimes. Suddenly his wallowing 
stopped, and his antlers, dripping mud, were lifted 
erect. For a few moments he was motionless as 
a rock, listening. He had caught the snapping of 
a twig, in the trail below the edge of the shelf. 
The sound was repeated; and he understood. 
Blowing smartly, as if to clear the mud from about 
his nostrils, he lurched to his feet, stalked forth 
from the wallow, and stood staring arrogantly 
along the trail by which he had come. The next 
moment another pair of antlers appeared; and then 
another bull, tall but lean, and with long, spiky, 
narrow horns, mounted over the edge of the shelf, 
and halted to eye the apparition before him. 

The newcomer was of a darker hue than the 
lord of the wallow, and of much slimmer build, — 
altogether less formidable in appearance. But he 
looked very fit and fearless as, after a moment's 
supercilious survey of his rival's ooze-dripping 
form, he came mincing forward to the attack. The 
two, probably, had never seen each other before; 
but in rutting season all caribou bulls are enemies 
at sight. 

The white bull — no longer white now, but black 



Ube jffabt at tbe TKIlallow 257 

and silver in the moonlight — stood for some sec- 
onds quite motionless, his head low, his broad and 
massive antlers thrust forward, his feet planted 
firmly and apart. Ominous in his stillness, he 
waited till his light-stepping and debonair adver- 
sary was within twenty feet of him. Then, with 
an explosive blowing through his nostrils, he 
launched himself forward to the attack. 

Following the customary tactics of his kind, the 
second bull lowered his antlers to receive the 
charge. But in the last fraction of a breath before 
the crash, he changed his mind. Leaping aside 
with a lightning alertness more like the action of 
a red buck than that of a caribou, he just evaded 
the shock. At the same time two of the spiky 
prongs of one antler ripped a long gash down his 
opponent's flank. 

Amazed at this departure from the usual caribou 
tactics, and smarting with the anguish of that pun- 
ishing stroke, the white bull whirled in his tracks, 
and charged again, blind with fury. The slim 
stranger had already turned, and awaited him 
again, with lowered antlers in readiness, close by 
the edge of the wallow. This time he seemed 
determined to meet the shock squarely according 



258 "Gbe ibouse in tbe TKHatcr 

to the rules of the game — which apparently de- 
mand that the prowess of a caribou bull shall be 
determined by his pushing power. But again he 
avoided, leaping aside as if on springs; and again 
his sharp prongs furrowed his enemy's flank. 
With a grunt of rage the latter plunged on into 
the wallow, where he slipped forward upon his 
knees. 

Had the newcomer been a little more resourceful 
he might now have taken his adversary at a terrible 
disadvantage, and won an easy victory. But he 
hesitated, being too much enamoured of his own 
method of fighting; and in the moment of hesi- 
tation opportunity passed him by. The white bull, 
recovering himself with suddenly awakened agility, 
was on his feet and on guard again in an instant. 

These two disastrous experiences, however, had 
added wariness and wisdom to the great bull's fight- 
ing rage. His wound, his momentary discomfiture, 
had opened his arrogant eyes to the fact that his 
antagonist was a dangerous one. He stood vigilant 
and considering for a few seconds, no longer with 
his feet planted massively for a resistless rush, but 
balanced, and all his forces gathered well in hand; 
while his elusive foe stepped lightly and tauntingly 
from side to side before him, threateningly. 



Ube figm at tbe Mallow 259 

When the white bull made up his mind to attack 
again, instead of charging madly to swab his foe 
off the earth, he moved forward at a brisk stride, 
ready to check himself on the instant and block the 
enemy's side stroke. Within a couple of yards of 
his opponent he stopped short. The latter stood 
motionless, antlers lowered as before, apparently 
quite willing to lock horns. But the white bull 
would not be lured into a rush. Fiercely impatient 
he stamped the ground with a broad, clacking fore- 
hoof. 

Just at this moment, as if in response to the 
challenge of the hoof, the stranger charged like 
lightning. But almost in the same motion he 
swerved aside, seeking again to catch his adversary 
on the flank. Swift and cunning as he was, how- 
ever, the white bull was this time all readiness. 
He whirled, head down. With a sharp, dry crash 
the two sets of antlers came together, and locked. 

That this should have happened was the irre- 
mediable mistake of the slim stranger. In that 
close encounter, fury against fury, force against 
force fairly pitted, his speed and his agility counted 
for nothing. For a few seconds, indeed, in sheer 
desperation he succeeded in withstanding his 



260 Ubc Douse in tbe Mater 

heavier and more powerful foe. With hind feet 
braced far back, haunches strained, flank heaving 
and quivering, the two held steady, staccato grunts 
and snorts attesting the ferocity of their efforts. 
Then the hind foot of the younger bull slipped a 
little. With a convulsive wrench he recovered his 
footing ; and again the struggle hung at poise. But 
it was only for a few moments. Suddenly, as if 
he had felt his opportunity approach, the white bull 
threw all his strength into a mightier thrust. The 
legs of his adversary seemed to crumple up like 
paper beneath him. 

This would have been the end of the young bull's 
battlings and wooings; but as his good luck would 
have it, it was at the very edge of the shelf that 
he collapsed. Disengaging his victorious antlers, 
the conqueror thrust viciously and evisceratingly at 
the victim's exposed flank. The latter was just 
struggling to rise, with precarious foothold on the 
loose- turfed brink of the steep. As he writhed 
away wildly from the goring points, the bushes and 
turf crumbled away, and he fell backwards, rolling 
and crashing till he brought up, battered but whole, 
in a sturdy thicket of young firs. Regaining his 
feet he slunk off hurriedly into the dark of the 



Ube jffgbt at tbe TPttlaliow 261 

Woods. And the victor, standing on the brink in 
the white glare of the moonlight, " belled " his 
triumph hoarsely across the solemn spaces of the 
night. 



n 

A sound of footfalls, hesitating but apparently 
making no attempt at concealment, came from 
the bend of the trail beyond the wallow; and the 
great white bull wheeled savagely to see what was 
approaching. As he glared, however, the angry 
ridge of hair cresting his neck sank amiably. A 
young cow, attracted by his calls and the noise 
of the battle, was coming around the thicket. 

At the edge of the thicket, not a dozen paces 
from the black ooze-bed of the wallow, the cow 
paused coyly, as if doubtful of her welcome. She 
murmured in her throat, a sort of rough allure- 
ment which seemed to the white bull's ears ex- 
traordinarily enticing. He answered, very softly, 
and stepped forward a pace or two, inviting rather 
than pursuing. Reassured, the young cow advanced 
confidently and eagerly to meet him. 

At this moment, out from the heart of the thicket 



262 ZTbe Ibouse in tbe Water 

plunged a towering black form, with wide, snarling 
jaws agleam in the moonlight. It seemed to launch 
itself through the air, as if from a height. One 
great, taloned paw struck the young cow full on the 
neck, a crashing blow, shattering the vertebrae 
through all their armour of muscle. With a groan 
the stricken cow sank down, her outstretched muz- 
zle smothered in the ooze of the wallow; and the 
monstrous bulk of the bear fell upon her, tearing 
the warm flesh hungrily. 

: In ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, the most 
hot-headed and powerful bull of the caribou will 
shrink from trying conclusions with a full grown 
black bear. The duel, as a rule, is too cruelly one- 
sided. The bear, on the other hand, knows that 
a courageous bull is no easy victim; and the mon- 
ster ambuscaded in the thicket had been waiting 
for one or both of the rivals to be disabled before 
making his attack. The approach of the young 
cow had been an unexpected favour of the Powers 
that order the wilderness: and in clutching his op- 
portunity he had scornfully and absolutely put the 
white bull out of the reckoning. 

But this bull was the exceptional one, the one 
that confounds generalizations, and confirms the 



Ubc fftgbt at tbe Mallow 263 

final supremacy of the unexpected. He was alto- 
gether fearless, indifferent to odds, and just now 
flushed with overwhelming victory. Moreover, he 
was aflame with mating ardour; and the mate of 
his desire had just been brutally struck down be- 
fore his eyes. For a moment or two he stood 
bewildered, not daunted, but amazed by the terrific 
apparition and the appalling event. Then a mad 
fire raged through all his veins, his great muscles 
swelled, the stiff hair on his neck and shoulders 
stood straight up, his eyes went crimson — and 
without a sound he charged across the wallow. 

When the bulls of the caribou kin fight each 
other, the weapons of their sole dependence are 
their antlers. But when they fight alien enemies 
they are wont to hold their heads high and strike 
with the battering, knife-edged weapons of their 
fore-hoofs. The bear, crouched upon his quivering 
prey, was too absorbed and too scornful to look 
for any assault. The bull was upon him, therefore, 
before he had time to guard his exposed flank. 
From the corner of his eye, he saw a big glistening 
shape which reared suddenly above him, and, clever 
boxer that he was, he threw up a ponderous fore- 
arm to parry the blow. But he was too late. With 



264 ube Ibouse in tbe TKHater 

all the force of some seven hundred pounds of rage, 
avenging rage, behind him, these great hoofs, with 
their cutting edges, came down upon his side, 
smashing in several ribs, and gashing a wide 
wound down into his loins. The shock was so 
terrific that his own counter stroke, usually so 
swift and unerring, went wild altogether, and he 
was sent rolling clear of the body of his prey. 

Instantly upon delivering his stroke, the white 
bull had pranced lightly aside, knowing well enough 
the swift and deadly effectiveness of a bear's paw. 
But he struck yet again, almost, it seemed, in the 
same breath, and just as the bear wtas struggling 
up upon his haunches. Frantically, out of his as- 
tonishment, fury, and pain, the bear attempted to 
guard. He succeeded, indeed, in warding off those 
deadly hoofs from his flank; but he caught an 
almost disabling blow on the point of the left 
shoulder, putting his left forearm out of business. 
With a squawling grunt he swung about upon his 
haunches, bringing his right toward the enemy, and 
sat up, savagely but anxiously defensive. 

Sore wounded though he was, the bear was not 
yet beaten. One fair buffet of his right paw, could 
he but land it in the proper place, — on nose, or 



Zbc jfiabt at tbe Mallow 265 

neck, or leg — might yet give him the victory, and 
let him crawl off to nurse his hurts in some dense 
covert, leaving his broken foe to die in the wallow. 
But the white bull, though he had underrated his 
former antagonist, was in no danger of misprizing 
this one. He was now as wary as he had, in the 
previous case, been rash. Moreover, he had had a 
dreadful object lesson in the power of the bear's 
paw. The body of the cow before him kept him 
from forgetting. 

Stepping restlessly from side to side, threaten- 
ing now with hoof and now with antlers, he seemed 
each instant upon the point of a fresh attack; and 
the bear, with swaying muzzle and blazing, shifting 
eyes, kept following his every motion. Again and 
again he gathered his muscles for a fresh charge — 
but each time he checked himself with a realization 
that the body of the slain cow was exactly in his 
way, hampering his avoidance of a counter-stroke. 

After some minutes of this feinting, the caribou 
stood still, deliberating some new move. Instantly 
the bear, also, became motionless as a stone. The 
sudden peace was like a shock of enchantment, a 
violent sorcery, and over it the blue-white, flooding 
shine of the moonlight seemed to take on some 



266 xrbe Douse in tbe mater 

sinister significance. The seconds lengthened out 
as a nightmare, till at last the stupendous stillness 
was broken by the wild clamour of a loon, far down 
on the lake. As the distant cry shrilled up the 
mountainside, the white bull stirred, shook his 
antlers, and blew loudly through his nostril. It 
was a note of challenge — but in it the bear divined 
a growing hesitancy. Perhaps, after all, this fight, 
which had gone so sorely against him, might not 
have to be fought out! He dropped, whirled about 
so quietly one could hardly follow the motion — 
and in a flash was up again on his haunches, right 
paw uplifted, eyes blazing vigilant defiance. But 
he had retreated several feet in that swift ma- 
noeuvre! His move was a confusion of defeat — 
but his attitude was a warning that he was dan- 
gerous in defeat. The bull followed, but only for 
a couple of steps, which brought him so that he 
bestrode the body of the cow. Here he halted, still 
threatening; and again the two confronted each 
other motionlessly. 

This time, however, the spell was broken by the 
bear himself. Suddenly he repeated his former 
manoeuvre ; and again turned to face his adversary. 
But the bull did not follow. Without a movement 




IN A FLASH WAS UP AGAIN ON HIS HAUNCHES." 



Zbc fight at tfoe Mallow 269 

he stood, as if content with his victory. And after 
a few moments the bear, as if realizing that the 
fight was over, flung himself aside from the trail 
and went limping off painfully through the bushes, 
keeping a watchful eye over his shoulder till he 
vanished into a bunch of dense spruce against the 
mountainside. 

The white bull eyed his going proudly. Then 
he looked down at the torn and lifeless body be- 
tween his feet. He had not really taken note of 
it before. Now he bent his head and sniffed at 
it with wondering interrogation. The spreading 
blood, still warm, smote his nostrils; and all at 
once, it seemed, death and the fear of death were 
borne in upon his arrogant heart. He tossed his 
head, snorting wildly, flung himself clear of the 
uncomprehended, dreadful thing upon the ground, 
bounded over the wallow as if it, too, had grown 
terrifying, and fled away up the trail through the 
merciless, unconcealing moonlight, till he reached 
the end of the open shelf and a black wood hid his 
sudden fear of the unknown. 




Sonns ant> tbe 1ktt> 

HE little old gray house, with its gray 
barn and low wagon shed, stood in the 
full sun at the top of a gullied and stony 
lane. Behind it the ancient forest, spruce and fir 
and hemlock, came down and brooded darkly over 
the edge of the rough, stump-strewn pasture. The 
lane, leading up to the house from the main road, 
climbed between a sloping buckwheat field on the 
one hand and a buttercupped meadow on the other. 
On either side of the lane, cutting it off from the 
fields, straggled a zigzag snake fence, with milk- 
weed, tansy, and mullein growing raggedly in its 
corners. 

At the head of the lane, where it came out upon 
the untidy but homely looking yard, stood a largish 
black and tan dog, his head on one side, his ears 
cocked, his short stub of a tail sticking out straight 
and motionless, tense with expectation. He was 
staring at a wagon which came slowly along the 

270 



Sonns anb tbe TRtb 271 

main road, drawn by a jogging, white-faced sorrel. 
The expression in the dog's eyes was that of a hope 
so eager that nothing but absolute certainty could 
permit him to believe in its approaching fulfilment. 
His mouth was half open, as if struggling to aid 
his vision. 

He was an odd looking beast, formidable in his 
sturdy strength and his massiveness of jaw; and 
ugly beyond question, but for the alert intelligence 
of his eyes. A palpable mongrel, he showed none 
the less that he had strains of distinction in his an- 
cestry. English bull was the blood most clearly 
proclaimed, in his great chest, short, crooked legs, 
fine coat, and square, powerful head. His pro- 
nounced black and tan seemed to betray some 
beagle kinship, as did his long, close-haired ears. 
Whoever had docked his tail, in his defenceless 
puppyhood, had evidently been too tender-hearted 
to cut those silken and sensitive ears. So Sonny 
had been obliged to face life in the incongruous 
garb of short tail and long ears — which is almost 
as unpardonable as yellow shoes with a top hat. 

When the wagon drew close to the foot of the 
lane, Sonny was still uncertain. There might be 
other white faced sorrels than lazy old Bill. The 



272 ube Ibouse in tbe Mater 

man in the wagon certainly looked like his beloved 
master, Joe Barnes; but Joe Barnes was always 
alone on the wagon-seat, while this man had a child 
beside him, a child with long, bright, yellow hair 
and a little red cap. This to Sonny was a bewilder- 
ing phenomenon. But when at last the wagon 
turned up the lane, his doubts were finally resolved. 
His stub of a tail jerked spasmodically, in its strug- 
gle to wag. Then with two or three delirious yelps 
of joy he started madly down the lane. At the 
sound of his voice the door of the gray house 
opened. A tall, thin woman in a bluish homespun 
skirt and red calico waist came out, and moved 
slowly across the yard to welcome the new arrivals. 
When Sonny, yelping and dancing, met the 
creaking wagon as it bumped its way upward over 
the gullies, his master greeted him with a " Hello, 
Sonny ! " as usual ; but to the dog's quick percep- 
tion there was a difference in his tone, a difference 
that was almost an indifference. Joe Barnes was 
absorbed. At other times, he was wont to seem 
warmly interested in Sonny's welcoming antics, 
and would keep up a running fire of talk with him 
while the old sorrel plodded up the lane. To-day. 
however, Joe's attention was occupied by the yel- 



5onn£ an& tbe Tfcto 273 

low-haired child beside him; and Sonny's demon- 
strations, he knew not why, became perceptibly less 
ecstatic. It was of no consequence whatever to 
him that the child stared at him with dancing eyes 
and cried delightedly, " Oh, Unc' Joe, what a 
pretty doggie! Oh, what a nice doggie! Can I 
have him, Unc' Joe?" 

" All right, Kid," said Joe Barnes, gazing down 
adoringly upon the little red cap; "he's yourn. 
His name's Sonny, an' he's the best dawg ever 
chased a chipmunk. He'll love ye, Kid, most as 
much as yer old Unc' Joe an' Aunt Ann does." 

When the yard was reached, the tall woman in 
the red calico waist was at the side of the wagon 
before the driver's " Whoa ! " brought the horse 
to a stop. The little one was snatched down from 
the seat and hugged vehemently to her heart. 

" Poor lamb ! Precious lamb ! " she murmured. 
" I'll be a mother to you, please God ! " 

" I want my mummie ! Where's she gone to ? " 
cried the child, suddenly reminded of a loss which 
he was beginning to forget. But his aunt changed 
the subject hastily. 

"Ain't he the livin' image of Jim?" she de- 
manded in a voice of admiring admiration. " Did 
ever you see the likes of it, father? " 



274 Ube Ibouse in tbe IKaater 

Under the pretence of examining him more crit- 
ically, Joe took the child into his own arms, and 
looked at him with ardent eyes. " Yes," said he, 
" the Kid does favour Jim, more'n his — " But 
he checked himself at the word. " An' he's a regu- 
lar little man too!" he went on. "Come all the 
way up on the cars by himself, an' wasn't a mite o* 
trouble, the conductor said." 

Utterly engrossed in the little one, neither Joe 
nor his wife gave a look or a thought to Sonny, 
who was leaping upon them joyously. For years 
he had been almost the one centre of attention for 
the childless couple, who had treated him as a child, 
caressing him, spoiling him, and teaching him, to 
feel his devotion necessary to them. Now, finding 
himself quite ignored, he quieted down all at once 
and stood for a few seconds gazing reproachfully 
at the scene. The intimacy with Joe and Ann 
which he had so long enjoyed had developed almost 
a human quality in his intelligence and his feelings. 
Plainly, now, he was forgotten. His master and 
mistress had withdrawn their love and were pour- 
ing it out upon this stranger child. His ears and 
stub tail drooping in misery, he turned away, 
walked sorrowfully over to the horse, and sniffed 



Sonns an& tbe Ikifc 275 

at the latter 's nose as if to beg for some explanation 
of what had happened. But the old sorrel, pleas- 
antly occupied in cropping at the short, sweet grass 
behind the well, had neither explanation nor sym- 
pathy to offer. Sonny went off to his kennel, a 
place he scorned to notice, as a rule, because the 
best in the house had hitherto been held none too 
good for him. Creeping in with a beaten air, he lay 
down with his nose on his paws in the doorway, 
and tried to understand what had come upon him. 
One thing only was quite clear to him. It was all 
the fault of the child with the yellow curls. 

Sonny had had no experience with children. The 
few he had met he had regarded with that imper- 
sonal benevolence which was his attitude toward 
all humanity. His formidable appearance had 
saved him from finding out that humanity could be 
cruel and brutal. So now, in his unhappiness, he 
had no jealous anger. He simply wanted to keep 
away from this small being who had caused his 
hurt. 

But even this grace was not to be allowed him. 
By the time Joe Barnes and Ann, both trying to 
hold the little one in their arms at the same time, 
had made their impeded way to the house, the little 



276 xibe Ibouse in tbe TKHatet 

one had begun to find their ardour a shade embar- 
rassing. To him there were lots of things better 
than being hugged and kissed. This shining green 
backwoods world was quite new to his city born 
eyes, and he wanted to find out all about it, at once, 
for himself. He began struggling vigorously to 
get down out of the imprisoning arms. 

" Put me down, Unc' Joe! " he demanded. " I 
want to play with my doggie." 

" All right, Kid," responded Joe, complying in- 
stantly. " Here Sonny, Sonny, come an* git ac- 
quainted with the Kid ! " 

" Yes, come and see the Kid, Sonny ! " reechoed 
the woman, devouring the little yellow head with 
her eyes. His real name was Alfred, but Joe had 
called him " the Kid," and that was to be his ap- 
pellation thenceforth. 

Hearing his name called, Sonny emerged from 
his kennel and came forward, but not with his 
wonted eagerness. Very soberly, but with prompt 
obedience he came, and thrust his massive head 
under Joe's hand for the accustomed caress. But 
the caress was not forthcoming. Joe simply forgot 
it, so absorbed was he, his gaunt, weather-beaten 
face glowing and melting with smiles as he gazed 
at the child. 



Sonns ant) tbe IKifc 277 

" Here's your dawg, Kid ! " said he, and watched 
delightedly to see how the little one would go about 
asserting proprietorship. 

The woman was the more subtle of the two in 
her sympathies. " Sonny," she said, pulling the 
dog forward, " here's the Kid, yer little master. 
See you mind what he tells you, and see you take 
good keer o' him." 

Sonny wagged his tail obediently, his load of 
misery lightening under the touch of his mistress's 
hand. He leaned against her knees, comforted for 
a moment, though his love was more for the man 
than for her. But he would not look at the Kid. 
He shut his eyes with an expression of endurance 
as the little one's hand patted him vehemently on the 
face, and his stub tail stopped wagging. In a dim 
way he recognized that he must not be uncivil to 
this small stranger who had so instantaneously and 
completely usurped his place. But beyond this he 
could think of nothing but his master, who had 
grown indifferent. Suddenly, with a burst of long- 
ing for reconciliation, he jerked abruptly away from 
the child's hands, wriggled in between Joe's legs, 
and strove to climb up and lick his face. 

At the look of disappointment which passed over 



278 xrbe Ibouse in tbe 1KHater 

the child's face Joe Barnes felt a sudden rush of 
anger. Stupidly misunderstanding, he thought that 
Sonny was merely trying to avoid the child. He 
straightened up his tall figure, snatched the little 
one to his breast, and exclaimed in a harsh voice, 
" If ye can't be nice to the Kid, git out! " 

The words " Git out ! " with the tone in which 
they were uttered, would have been comprehensible 
to a much meaner intelligence than Sonny's. As 
if he had been whipped, he curled down his abbrevi- 
ated tail, and ran and hid himself in his kennel. 

" Sonny didn't mean to be ugly to the Kid, 
father," protested Ann. " He jest don't quite un- 
derstand the situation yet, an' he's wonderin' why 
ye don't make so much of him as ye used to. I 
don't blame him fer feelin' a leetle mite left out 
in the cold." 

Joe felt a vague suspicion that Ann might be 
right; but it was a very vague suspicion, just 
enough to make him feel uneasy and put him on 
the defensive. Being obstinate and something of a 
crank, this only added heat to his irritation. " I 
ain't got no use fer any dawg that don't know 
enough to take to a kid on sight ! " he declared, 
readjusting the little red cap on the child's curls. 




HE CURLED DOWN HIS ABBREVIATED TAIL, AND RAN. 



Sonns anfc tbe mtfr 281 

"Of course, father/' acquiesced Ann discreetly; 
" but you'll find Sonny'll be all right." 

Here the child, who had been squirming with 
impatience, piped up, " I want to go an' see my 
doggie in his little house ! " he declared. 

" Oh, no, Kid, we're goin' to let Sonny be fer a 
bit. We're goin' to see the calf, the pretty black 
an' white calf, round back o' the barn, now. You 
go along with Aunty Ann while I onhitch old Bill. 
An' then we'll all go an' see the little pigs." 

His mind altogether diverted by the suggestion 
of such strange delights, the little fellow trotted 
off joyously with Ann, while Joe Barnes led the old 
rorrel to the barn, grumbling to himself at what 
he chose to call Sonny's " ugliness " in not making 
friends with the Kid. 

From that hour Sonny's life was changed. In 
fact, it seemed to him no longer life at all. His 
master's indifference grew swiftly to an unreason- 
ing anger against him; and as he fretted over it 
continually, a malicious fate seemed to delight in 
putting him, or leading him to put himself, ever in 
the wrong. Absorbed in longing for his master, he 
hardly thought of the child at all. Several times, 



282 zbc Ibouse in tbe TKHater 

in a blundering effort to make things right with 
Sonny and the Kid, Joe seated himself on the back 
doorstep, took the little one on his knee, and called 
Sonny to come and make friends. At the sound 
of the loved summons Sonny shot out from the 
kennel, which had become his constant refuge, tore 
wildly across the yard, and strove, in a sort of ec- 
stasy, to show his forgiveness and his joy by climb- 
ing into Joe's lap. Being a lar 6 e dog, and the lap 
already filled, this meant roughly crowding out the 
Kid, of whose very existence, at this moment, 
Sonny was unaware. But to the obtuse man 
Sonny's action seemed nothing more than a mean 
and jealous effort to supplant the Kid. 
■ " To the Kid this proceeding of Sonny's was a fine 
game. He would grapple with the dog, hug him, 
pound him gleefully with his little fists, and call 
him every pet name he knew. 

But the man would rise to his feet angrily, and 
cry, "If that's all ye' re good fer, git! Git out, I 
tell ye ! " And Sonny, heartsore and bewildered, 
would shrink back hopelessly to his kennel. When 
this, or something much like it, had happened sev- 
eral times, even Ann, for all her finer perceptions, 
began to feel that Sonny might be a bit nicer to the 



Sonns an& tbe Ikffc 283 

Kid, and, as a consequence, to stint her kindness. 
But to Sonny, sunk in his misery and pining only 
for that love which his master had so inexplicably 
withdrawn from him, it mattered little whether 
Ann was neglectful or not. 

Uneventfully day followed day on the lonely 
backwoods farm. To Sonny, the discarded, the 
discredited, they were all hopeless days, dark and 
interminable. But to the Kid they were days of 
wonder, every one. He loved the queer black and 
white pigs, which he studied intently through the 
cracks in the boarding of their pen. He loved the 
calf, and the three velvet-eyed cows, and the two 
big red oxen, inseparable yoke fellows. The 
chickens were an inexhaustible interest to him ; and 
so were the airy throngs of buttercups afloat on 
the grass, and the yet more aerial troops of the 
butterflies flickering above them, white and brown 
and red and black and gold and yellow and maroon. 
But in the last choice he loved best of all the silent, 
unresponsive Sonny, of whose indifference he 
seemed quite unaware. Sonny, lying on the grass, 
would look at him soberly, submit to his endear- 
ments without one answering wag of the tail, and 
at last, after the utmost patience that courtesy 



284 TLDc Douse in tbe Mater 

could require, would slowly get up, yawn, and 
stroll off to his kennel or to some pretended busi- 
ness behind the barn. His big heart harboured no 
resentment against the child, whom he knew to be 
a child and irresponsible. His resentment was all 
against fate, or life, or whatever it was, the vague, 
implacable force which was causing Joe Barnes to 
hurt him. For Joe Barnes he had only sorrow and 
hungry devotion. 

Little by little, however, Sonny's lonely and sor- 
rowful heart, in spite of itself, was beginning to 
warm toward the unconscious child. Though still 
outwardly indifferent, he began to feel gratified 
rather than bored when the Kid came up and gaily 
disturbed his slumbers by pounding him on the 
head with his little palm and tumbling over his 
sturdy back. It was a mild gratification, however, 
and seemed to call for no demonstrative expression. 

Then, one noon, he chanced to be lying, heavy- 
hearted, some ten or a dozen paces in front of the 
kitchen door, while Joe Barnes sat on the doorstep 
smoking his after-dinner pipe, and Ann bustled 
through the dish washing. At such times, in the 
old happy days, Sonny's place had always been at 
Joe Barnes's feet; but those times seemed to have 



Sonns an£> tbe ifctb 285 

been forgotten by Joe Barnes, who had the Kid 
beside him. Suddenly, tired of sitting still, the 
little one jumped up and ran over to Sonny. Sonny 
resolutely pretended to be asleep. Laughingly the 
child sprawled over him, pulled his ears gently, 
then tried to push open his eyes. A little burst of 
warmth gushed up in Sonny's sad heart. With a 
swift impulse he lifted his muzzle and licked the 
Kid, a generous, ample lick across the face. 

Alas! as blundering fate would have it, the 
Kid's face was closer than Sonny had imagined. 
He not only licked it, but at the same time bumped 
it violently with his wet muzzle. Taken by surprise 
and half -dazed, the Kid drew back with a sharp 
little " Gh ! " His eyes grew very wide, and for 
an instant his mouth quivered as if he was going 
to cry. This was all Joe Barnes saw. Springing 
to his feet, with a smothered oath, he ran, caught 
the Kid up in his arms, and gave Sonny a fierce 
kick in the ribs which sent him rushing back to his 
kennel with a howl of grief and pain. 

Ann had come running from the house in amaze- 
ment. The Kid was sobbing, and struggling to get 
down from Joe's arms. 

Ann snatched him away anxiously. " What did 



286 xrbe t>ouse in tbe TKHater 

Sonny do to ye, the bad dawg ! " she demanded. 

" He ain't bad. He's good. He jest kissed me 
too hard ! " protested the little one indignantly. 

" He hurt the Kid's face. I ain't right sure but 
what he snapped at him," said Joe Barnes. 

" He didn't hurt me ! He didn't mean to," went 
on the Kid. 

"Of course he didn't," said Ann with conviction. 
" Father, ye' re too hard on the dawg. Ye hadn't 
oughter have kicked him." 

An obstinate look settled on Joe Barnes's face. 
" Yes, I had, too. 'N' he'll be gittin' more'n that, 
ef he don't l'arn not to be ugly to the Kid," he re- 
torted harshly. Then, with an uneasy sense that, 
whether right or wrong, he was in the minority, he 
returned to the doorstep and moodily resumed his 
smoking. Ann called Sonny many times to come 
out and get his dinner. But Sonny, broken-hearted, 
and the ruins of all his life and love and trust tum- 
bled about his ears, would not hear her. He was 
huddled in the back of his kennel, with his nose 
jammed down into the corner. 

Two days later it happened that both Joe and 
Ann went down together into the field in front of 



Sonns anb tbe IRffc 287 

the house to weed the carrot patch. They left the 
Kid asleep in his trundle bed, in the little room off 
the kitchen. When they were gone, Sonny came 
out of his kennel and lay down in the middle of the 
yard, where he could keep a watchful eye on every- 
thing belonging to Joe Barnes. 

It was the Kid's invariable custom to sleep 
soundly for a good two hours of the early after- 
noon. On this afternoon, however, he broke his 
custom. Joe and Ann had not been ten minutes 
away, when he appeared in the kitchen door, his 
yellow hair tousled, his cheeks rosy, his plump fists 
trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes. His face 
was aggrieved, because he had woke up and found 
himself alone. But at the sight of Sonny the griev- 
ance was forgotten. He ran to the dog and began 
to maul him joyously. 

His recent bitter experience raw in his heart, 
Sonny did not dare to respond, but lay with his 
nose on his paws, unstirring, while the child 
sprawled over him. After a few minutes this utter 
unresponsiveness chilled even the Kid's enthusiasm. 
He jumped up and cast his eyes about in search of 
some diversion more exciting. His glance wan- 
dered out past the barn and up the pasture toward 



288 Zhe Ibouse in tbe Mater 

the edge of the forest. A squirrel, sitting on a 
black stump in the pasture, suddenly began jump- 
ing about and shrilly chattering. This was some- 
thing quite new and very interesting. The Kid 
crawled through the bars and started up the pas- 
ture as fast as his sturdy little legs could carry him. 

The squirrel saw him coming, but knowing very 
well that he was not dangerous, held his ground, 
bouncing up and down on the stump in vociferous 
excitement. When the Kid was within three feet 
of him, he gave a wild " K-r-r-r-r ! " of derision, 
and sprang to another stump. With eyes dancing 
and eager little hands outstretched, the Kid fol- 
lowed — again and again, and yet again — till he 
was led to the very edge of the wood. Then the 
mocking imp in red fur whisked up an ancient hem- 
lock, and hid himself, in silence, in a high crotch, 
tired of the game. 

At the edge of the woods the Kid stopped, peer- 
ing in among the shadows with mingled curiosity 
and awe. The bright patches of sunlight on the 
brown forest floor and on the scattered underbrush 
allured him. Presently, standing out in conspicu- 
ous isolation, a great crimson toadstool caught his 
eye. He wanted the beautiful thing intensely, to 



Sonus an& tbe IKifc 289 

play with. But he was afraid. Leaning his face 
against the old fence, he gazed through desirously. 
But the silence made him more and more afraid. 
If only the squirrel would come back and play with 
him, he would not be afraid. He was on the point 
of giving up the beautiful crimson toadstool and 
turning back home, when he saw a little gray bird 
hopping amid the lower limbs of a spruce in among 
the shadows. " Tsic-a-dee-dee ! " whistled the little 
gray bird, blithely and reassuringly. At once the 
shadows and the stillness lost their terrors. The 
Kid squeezed boldly through the fence and started 
in for the glowing toadstool. 

Just as he reached the coloured thing and stooped 
to seize it, a sharp " Tzip, tzip ! " and a rustling of 
stiff feathers startled him. Looking up, he saw a 
bright-eyed brown bird running hither and thither 
before him, trailing one wing on the ground as if 
unable to fly. It was such a pretty bird! And it 
seemed so tame ! The Kid felt sure he could catch 
it. Grabbing up the crimson toadstool, and holding 
it clutched to his bosom with one hand, he ran eag- 
erly after the brown bird. The bird, a wily old 
hen partridge, bent on leading the intruder away 
from her hidden brood, kept fluttering laboriously 



290 XTbe Douse in tbe XKHater 

on just beyond his reach, till she came to a dense 
patch of underbrush. She was just about to dive 
into this thicket, when she leaped into the air, in- 
stead, with a frightened squawk, and whirred up 
into the branches of a lofty birch near by. 

Bitterly disappointed, the Kid gazed up after 
her, still clutching the bright toadstool to his breast. 
Then, by instinct rather than by reason, he dropped 
his eyes to the thicket, and stared in to see what 
had frightened away the pretty brown bird. 

At first he could see nothing. But to his sensi- 
tive little nerves came a feeling that something 
was there. Gradually his eyes, accustoming them- 
selves to the gloom, began to disentangle substance 
and shadow. Then suddenly he detected the form 
of a gray crouching animal. He saw its tufted 
ears, its big round face, with moutn half open grin- 
ningly. Its great, round, pale, yellow green eyes 
were staring straight at him. 

In his fright the Kid dropped his toadstool and 
stared back at the gray animal. His first impulse 
was to turn and run; but, somehow, he was afraid 
to do that — afraid to turn his back on the pale- 
eyed, crouching shape. As he gazed, trembling, 
he saw that the animal looked like a huge gray cat. 




IN HIS FRIGHT THE KID DROPPED HIS TOADSTOOL AND STARED 
BACK AT THE GRAY ANIMAL." 



Sonns an& tbe Ikifc 293 

At this thought he felt a trifle reassured. Cats 
were kind, and nice to play with. A big cat 
wouldn't hurt him, he felt quite sure of that. But 
when, after a minute or two of moveless glaring, 
the big cat, never taking its round eyes from his 
face, began to creep straight toward him, stealthily, 
without a sound, then his terror all came back. In 
the extremity of his fear he burst out crying, not 
very loud, but softly and pitifully, as if he hardly 
knew what he was doing. His little hands hanging 
straight down at his sides, his head bent slightly 
forward, he stood helplessly staring at this strange, 
terrible cat creeping toward him through the thicket. 

Sonny, meanwhile, had grown uneasy the mo- 
ment the Kid climbed through the bars into the 
pasture. The Kid had never gone into the pasture 
before. Sonny got up, turned round, and lay down 
in such' a position that he could see just what the 
child was doing. He knew the little one belonged 
to Joe Barnes; and he could not let anything be- 
longing to Joe Barnes get lost or run away. When 
the Kid reached the edge of the woods and stood 
looking through the fence, then Sonny roused him- 
self, and started up the pasture in a leisurely, indif- 



294 xibe Ifoouse in tbe Mater 

ferent way, as if it was purely his own whim that 
took him- in that direction. He pretended not to 
see the Kid at all. But in reality he was watching, 
with an anxious intentness, every move the little 
one made. He was determined to do his duty by 
Joe Barnes. 

But when at last the Kid wriggled through the 
fence and darted into the gloom of the forest, 
Sonny's solicitude became more personal. He 
knew that the forest was a place of many strange 
perils. It was no place for the Kid. A sudden 
fear seized him at thought of what might happen 
to the Kid, there in the great and silent shadows. 
He broke into a frantic run, scrambled through the 
fence, picked up the little adventurer's trail, and 
darted onward till he caught sight of the Kid's 
bright curly head, apparently intent on gazing into 
a thicket. At the sight he stopped abruptly, then 
sauntered forward with a careless air, as if it was 
the most ordinary chance in the world that he 
should come across the Kid, away off here alone. 

Instinctively, under the subtle influence of the 
forest silence, Sonny went forward softly, on his 
toes, though anything like stealth was altogether 
foreign to him. As he crept up, he wondered what 



Sonns ant) tbe Ikifc 295 

it was in the thicket to keep him so still. There 
was something mysterious about it. The hair be- 
gan to rise along Sonny's back. Then, a moment 
later, he heard the Kid crying. There was no mis- 
taking the note of terror in that hopeless, helpless 
little sound. Sonny did not need to reason about 
it; his heart understood all that was necessary. 
Something was frightening the Kid. His white 
teeth bared themselves, and he darted forward. 

At this instant there came a crackling and swish- 
ing in the thicket; and the Kid, as if released from 
a spell, turned with a scream and started to flee. 
He tripped on a root, however, and fell headlong 
on his face, his yellow curls mixing with the brown 
twigs and fir needles. Almost in the selfsame sec- 
ond a big gray lynx burst from the green of the 
underbrush and sprang upon the little, sprawling, 
helpless form. 

But not actually upon it. Those outstretching, 
murderous claws never actually sank into the Kid's 
flesh. For Sonny was there just as soon as the 
lynx was. The wild beast changed its mind, and 
attack, just in time to avoid being taken at a serious 
disadvantage. The rush of Sonny's heavy body 
bore it backward clear of the Kid. The latter 



296 Ube Ibouse in tbe Mater 

scrambled to his feet, stifled his sobs, and stared 
open-mouthed at the sudden fury of battle which 
confronted him. 

Had Sonny not been endowed with intelligence 
as well as valour, he would have fallen victim al- 
most at once to his adversary's terrific, raking hind 
claws. But fortunately, during his pugnacious 
puppyhood he had had several encounters with war- 
wise, veteran cats. To him, the lynx was obviously 
a huge and particularly savage cat. He knew the 
deadly power of its hind claws, with all the strength 
of those great hind quarters behind them. As he 
grappled with the screeching lynx, silently, after 
the fashion of his bull ancestors, he received a rip- 
ping slash from one of its armed fore paws, but 
succeeded in fixing his grip on the base of the 
beast's neck, not far from the throat. Instantly 
he drew himself backward with all his weight, 
crouching flat, and dragging the enemy down with 
him. 

In this position, Sonny, backing and pulling with 
all his strength, the spitting and screeching cat was 
unable to bring its terrible hinder claws into play. 
The claws of the beast's great fore paws, however, 
were doing cruel work on Sonny's back and sides; 



Sonnp anfc tbe Tkt^ 297 

while its long fangs, pointed like daggers, tore sav- 
agely at the one point on his shoulder which they 
could reach. This terrible punishment Sonny took 
stoically, caring only to protect the tender under 
part of his body and his eyes. His close grip on 
the base of the animal's neck shielded his eyes, and, 
according to the custom of his tenacious breed, he 
never relaxed his hold for a moment, but kept chew- 
ing in, chewing in, inexorably working his way to 
a final, fatal grip upon the throat. And not for a 
moment, either, did he desist from his steady back- 
ward pull, which kept the foe from doubling upon 
him with its hind quarters. 

For several minutes the furious struggle went 
on, Sonny, apparently, getting all the worst of it. 
His back and shoulders were pouring blood; while 
his enemy showed not a hurt. Then suddenly the 
gray beast's screeching took on a half strangling 
sound. With its mouth wide open it ceased to bite, 
though its fore paws raked and clawed more des- 
perately than ever. Sonny's relentless hold was 
beginning to throttle. His mouth was now too full 
of long fur and loose skin for him to bite clean 
through the throat and finish the fight. But he felt 
himself already the victor. 



298 a be tfoouse in tbe Mater 

Suddenly, as he continued that steady backward 
drag, the resistance ceased. The lynx had launched 
itself forward in one last convulsive struggle to 
free itself from those strangling teeth at its throat. 
For a second or two Sonny felt himself over- 
whelmed, engulfed, in a vortex of rending claws. 
In a tight ball of hate and ferocity and horror the 
two rolled over and over in the underbrush. Sonny, 
doubled up hard to protect his belly, heard a shrill 
cry of fear from the Kid. At the sound he sum- 
moned into his strained nerves and muscles a 
strength beyond the utmost which he had yet been 
able to put forth. His jaws worked upward, se- 
cured a cleaner grip, ground slowly closer; and at 
last his teeth crunched together. A great shudder 
shook the body of the lynx. It straightened out, 
limp and harmless. 

For perhaps a minute Sonny maintained his tri- 
umphant grip, shaking the foe savagely. Satisfied, 
at last, that he was meeting with no more resistance, 
he let go, stood off, and eyed the body with search- 
ing suspicion. Then he turned to the Kid. The 
Kid, careless of the blood and wounds, kissed him 
fervently on the nose, called him " Poor Sonny ! 
Dear, good Sonny ! " and burst into a loud wailing. 



Sonns anfc tbe fktt* 299 

Knowing that the one thing now was to get the 
Kid home again as soon as possible, Sonny started, 
looking back, and uttering a little imperative bark. 
The Kid understood, and followed promptly. By 
the time they reached the fence, however, Sonny 
was so weak from loss of blood he could hardly 
climb through. The Kid, with blundering but lov- 
ing efforts, helped him. Then he lay down. 

At this moment the voices of Joe and Ann were 
heard, shouting, calling wildly, from the yard. At 
the sound, Sonny struggled to his feet and stag- 
gered on, the Kid keeping close beside him. But 
he could manage only a few steps. Then he sank 
down again. 

The man and woman came running up the pas- 
ture, calling the Kid ; but the latter would not leave 
Sonny. He trotted forward a few steps, and 
stopped, shaking his head and looking back. When 
Joe and Ann came near enough to see that the little 
one's face and hair and clothes were splotched with 
blood, fear clutched at their hearts. " My God ! 
what's happened to him?" gasped Ann, striving 
to keep up with her husband's pace. But Joe was 
too quick for her. Darting ahead, he seized the 
little one, lifted him up, and searched his face with 



300 Ube Ifoouse in tbe TRUater 

frantic eyes. For all the blood, the child seemed 
well and vigorous. 

"What's it mean, Kid? Ye ain't hurt — ye 
ain't hurt — tell me ye ain't hurt, Kid! What's 
all this blood all over ye ? " he demanded breath- 
lessly. 

By this time Ann was at his side, questioning 
with terrified eyes. 

" 'Tain't me, Unc' Joe! " protested the Kid. " I 
ain't hurted. It's poor Sonny. He's hurted awful. 
He killed the great, big — great, big — " the Kid 
was at a loss how to explain, " the great, big, dread- 
ful cat, what was goin' to eat me up, Sonny did." 

Joe Barnes looked at the dog, the torn sides, 
streaming red wounds, and bloody muzzle. Woods- 
man that he was, he understood. "Sonny!" he 
cried in a piercing voice. The dog raised his head, 
wagged his stump of a tail feebly, and made a 
futile effort to rise. 

Gulping down something in his throat, Joe 
Barnes handed the child over to Ann, and strode 
to Sonny's side. Bending over him, he tenderly 
gathered the big dog into his arms, holding him 
like a baby. Sonny reached up and licked his chin. 
Joe turned and hastened back to the old gray house 
with his burden. 



SonrtE anfc tbe Utifc 301 

" Come along, mother," he said, his voice a little 
unsteady. " You'll have to look out for the Kid 
all by yerself for a bit now. I reckon I'm goin' 
to hev' about all I kin do, a-nursin' Sonny." 



THE END. 



From 

L. C. Page & Company's 
Announcement List 
of New Fiction 



The Call of the South 

By Robert Lee Durham. Cloth decorative, with 6 illus- 
trations by Henry Roth $1.50 

A very strong novel dealing with the race problem in this 
country. The principal theme is the danger to society from the 
increasing miscegenation of the black and white races, and the 
encouragement it receives in the social amenities extended to 
negroes of distinction by persons prominent in politics, philan- 
thropy and educational endeavor; and the author, a Southern 
lawyer, hopes to call the attention of the whole country to the 
need of earnest work toward its discouragement. He has 
written an absorbing drama of life which appeals with apparent 
logic and of which the inevitable denouement comes as a final 
and convincing climax. 

The author may be criticized by those who prefer not to face 
the hour " When Your Fear Cometh As Desolation And Your 
Destruction Cometh As A Whirlwind; " but his honesty of 
purpose in the frank expression of a danger so well understood 
in the South, which, however, many in the North refuse to 
recognize, while others have overlooked it, will be upheld by 
the sober second thought of the majority of his readers. 



L. C. PAGE & COMPANY'S 



The House in the Water 

By Charles G. D. Roberts, author of " The Haunters of 
the Silences," " Red Fox," " The Heart of the Ancient 
Wood," etc. With cover design, sixteen full-page drawings, 
and many minor decorations by Charles Livingston Bull. 
Cloth decorative, with decorated wrapper . . $1.50 

Professor Roberts's new book of nature and animal life is one 
long story in which he tells of the life of that wonderfully acute 
and tireless little worker, the beaver. " The Boy " and Jabe 
the Woodsman again appear, figuring in the story even more 
than they did in " Red Fox; " and the adventures of the boy 
and the beaver make most absorbing reading for young and 
old. 

The following chapter headings for " The House in the 
Water " will give an idea of the fascinating reading to come: 

The Sound in the Night (Beavers at Work). 

The Battle in the Pond (Otter and Beaver). 

In the Under-water World (Home Life of the Beaver). 

Night Watchers (" The Boy " and Jabe and a Lynx See 

the Beavers at Work). 
Dam Repairing and Dam Building (A " House-raising " 

Bee). 
The Peril of the Traps (Jabe Shows " The Boy"). 
Winter under Water (Safe from All but Man). 
The Saving of Boy's Pond (" The Boy " Captures Two 

Outlaws). 

" As a writer about animals, Mr. Roberts occupies an enviable 
place. He is the most literary, as well as the most imaginative 
and vivid of all the nature writers." — Brooklyn Eagle. 

" His animal stories are marvels of sympathetic science and 
literary exactness." — New York World. 

" Poet Laureate of the Animal World, Professor Roberts 
displays the keenest powers of observation closely interwoven 
with a fine imaginative discretion." — Boston Transcript. 



LIST OF NEW FICTION 3 

Captain Love 

The History of a Most Romantic Event in the Life of 
an English Gentleman During the Reign of His Majesty 
George the First. Containing Incidents of Courtship 
and Danger as Related in the Chronicles of the Period 
and Now Set Down in Print 

By Theodore Roberts, author of " The Red Feathers," 
" Brothers of Peril," etc. Cloth decorative, illustrated by- 
Frank T. Merrill $1.50 

A stirring romance with its scene laid in the troublous times 
in England when so many broken gentlemen foregathered with 
the " Knights of the Road; " when a man might lose part of 
his purse to his opponent at " White's " over the dice, and the 
next day be relieved of the rest of his money on some lonely 
heath at the point of a pistol in the hand of the self-same gambler. 

But, if the setting be similar to other novels of the period, the 
story is not. Mr. Roberts's work is always original, his style is 
always graceful, his imagination fine, his situations refreshingly 
novel. In his new book he has excelled himself. It is un- 
doubtedly the best thing he has done. 



Bahama Bill 

By T. Jenkins Hains, author of " The Black Barque," 
" The Voyage of the Arrow," etc. Cloth decorative, with 
frontispiece in colors by H. R. Reuterdahl . . $1.50 

The scene of Captain Hains's new sea story is laid in the 
region of the Florida Keys. His hero, the giant mate of the 
wrecking sloop, Sea-Horse, while not one to stir the emotions 
of gentle feminine readers, will arouse interest and admiration 
in men who appreciate bravery and daring. 

His adventures while plying his desperate trade are full of 
the danger that holds one at a sharp tension, and the reader 
forgets to be on the side of law and order in his eagerness to see 
the " wrecker " safely through his exciting escapades. 

Captain Hains's descriptions of life at sea are vivid, absorbingly 
frank and remarkably true. " Bahama Bill " ranks high as 
a stirring, realistic, unsoftened and undiluted tale of the sea, 
chock full of engrossing interest. 



L. C. PAGE & COMPANY'S 



Matthew Porter 

By Gamaliel Bradford, Jr., author of " The Private Tutor," 
etc. With a frontispiece in colors by Griswold Tyng $1.50 
When a young man has birth and character and strong ambi- 
tion it is safe to predict for him a brilliant career; and, when 
The Girl comes into his life, a romance out of the ordinary. 
Such a man is Matthew Porter, and the author has drawn him 
with fine power. 

Mr. Bradford has given us a charming romance with an 
unusual motive. Effective glimpses of the social life of Boston 
form a contrast to the more serious purpose of the story; but, 
in " Matthew Porter," it is the conflict of personalities, the 
development of character, the human element which grips the 
attention and compels admiration. 

Anne of Green Gables 

By L. M. Montgomery. Cloth decorative, illustrated SI. 50 
Every one, young or old, who reads the story of " Anne of 
Green Gables," will fall in love with her, and tell their friends 
of her irresistible charm. In her creation of the young heroine 
of this delightful tale Miss Montgomery will receive praise for 
her fine sympathy with and delicate appreciation of sensitive 
and imaginative girlhood. 

The story would take rank for the character of Anne alone; 
but in the delineation of the characters of the old farmer, and 
his crabbed, dried-up spinster sister who adopt her, the author 
has shown an insight and descriptive power which add much to 
the fascination of the book. 

Spinster Farm 

By Helen M. Winslow, author of " Literary Boston." Illus- 
trated from original photographs . . $1.50 
Whatever Miss Winslow writes is good, for she is in accord 
with the life worth living. The Spinster, her niece " Peggy," 
the Professor, and young Robert Graves, — not forgetting 
Hiram, the hired man, — are the characters to whom we are 
introduced on " Spinster Farm." Most of the incidents and 
all of the characters are real, as well as the farm and farmhouse, 
unchanged since Colonial days. 

Light-hearted character sketches, and equally refreshing and 
unexpected happenings are woven together with a thread of 
happy romance of which Peggy of course is the vivacious heroine. 
Alluring descriptions of nature and country life are given with 
fascinating bits of biography of the farm animals and household 
pets. 



Selections from 

L. C. Page and Company's 

List of Fiction 



WORKS OF 

ROBERT NEILSON STEPHENS 

Each one vol., library 127110, cloth decorative . . . $i.JO 

The Flight of Georgiana 

A Romance of the Days of the Young Pretender. Illus- 
trated by H. C. Edwards. 

" A love-story in the highest degree, a dashing story, and a re- 
markably well finished piece of work." — Chicago Record-Herald. 

The Bright Face of Danger 

Being an account of some adventures of Henri de Launay, son of 

the Sieur de la Tournoire. Illustrated by H. C. Edwards. 

" Mr. Stephens has fairly outdone himself. We thank him 

heartily. The story is nothing if not spirited and entertaining, 

rational and convincing." — Boston Transcript. 

The Mystery of Murray Davenport 

(40th thousand.) 

"This is easily the best thing that Mr. Stephens has yet done. 
Those familiar with his other novels can best judge the measure of 
this praise, which is generous." — Buffalo News. 

Captain Ravenshaw 

Or, The Maid of Cheapside. (52d thousand.) A romance 
of Elizabethan London. Illustrations by Howard Pyle and other 
artists. 

Not since the absorbing adventures of D'Artagnan have we had 
anything so good in the blended vein of romance and comedy. 

The Continental Dragoon 

A Romance of Philipse Manor House in 1778. (53d 

thousand.) Illustrated by H. C. Edwards. 

A stirring romance of the Revolution, with its scene laid 01. 

neutral territom- 



L. C. PAGE <5r» COMPANY'S 



Philip Winwood 

(70th thousand.) A Sketch of the Domestic History of an 
American Captain in the War of Independence, embracing events 
that occurred between and during the years 1763 and 1785 in 
New York and London. Illustrated by E. W. D. Hamilton. 

An Enemy to the King 

(70th thousand.) From the " Recently Discovered Memoirs of 
the Sieur de la Tournoire." Illustrated by H. De M. Young. 
An historical romance of the sixteenth century, describing the 

adventures of a young French nobleman at the court of Henry III., 

and on the field with Henry IV. 

The Road to Paris 

A Story of Adventure. (35th thousand.) Illustrated by 

H. C. Edwards. 

An historical romance of the eighteenth century, being an account 
of the life of an American gentleman adventurer of Jacobite an- 
cestry. 

A Gentleman Player 

His Adventures on a Secret Mission for Queen Eliza- 
» beth. (48th thousand.) Illustrated by Frank T. Merrill. 

The story of a young gentleman who joins Shakespeare's com- 
pany of players, and becomes a friend and protege of the great 
poet. 

Clementina's Highwayman 

Cloth decorative, illustrated $1-50 

Mr. Stephens has put into his new book, " Clementina's Highway 
man," the finest qualities of plot, construction, and literary finish. 

The story is laid in the mid-Georgian period. It is a dashing, 
sparkling, vivacious comedy, with a heroine as lovely and changeable 
as an April day, and a hero all ardor and daring. 

The exquisite quality of Mr. Stephens's literary style clothes the 
story in a rich but delicate word-fabric ; and never before have his 
setting and atmosphere been so perfect. 



jun a iso 8 




.WW. 



;"'i58 




